Arsonist
/Even afterward, you can hear a bird warble
as distance breaks the sound barrier.
The stark silence returns to the early morning
and is met with an equally desolate landscape.
The sun is hours from rising over the hills,
but the odor of the burnt underbrush floats
on the breezes with the heavy stench
of a corpse in transition from putrid.
You can sense the repugnance;
the black and singed flesh and flora
of the arsonist’s blaze is ripe with smug antipathy.
He watched. He watches still. He memorizes
every detail of his terrorist act, but he sees it as an angelic gift that he has bestowed upon this ravine.
Indeed that bird’s last cry is music to his depraved and malicious will.
Early morning soon arrives.
She smells like death.
He feels satisfied.
By DL Mullan
From: United States
Website: http://www.undawnted.com
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