He comes
in rough weather
layabout
cheap like pleather.
Murderer
without a gun
imposing
pulverizing
everyone.
He comes
when the cupboards are bare.
Owns the last crumb
and doesn't care.
Murderer
without a gun
demolishing
then depleting
thrice repeating.
Imploding on everyone.
No loyalty
but for the one.
First last cousin
of Attila the Hun.
Lost long ago
whatever empire there was
fading with the sun.
Still his plague is rising.
always perpetually agonizing.
Mister murderer
without a gun.
But death comes slyly before
the end of this tale,
swallowed whole
like krill in a whale.
He never had enough wind
in his sails.
Mister Mix-Master murderer
without a gun.
Dusk, dank-darkened his door
long before
everyone.
Copyright September 29th 2010////Meloo///////Melissa A.Howells
TILT-A-WORLD
