Of Dreams and Desolution: The Poetry of J. Douglas Stephenson

The Killer

The Killer

This too shall pass

Confessions unfound

Knowing the truth

Not a clamour, not a sound

A pause for the prayer

Never shutting my eyes

They are locked tight with his

As he seems to plead, "Why?"

From the bottomless pit

Of what's left of my heart

My conscience just stares

As the drums slowly start

And the gallows now swinging

In the wind and the rain

Was all that was needed

To relieve all their pain

But my mind drifts to somewhere

Not far from today

Where deception's forked tongue

Had sin, upon us, laid

And as they cheer of redemption

Plant hatreds dark seed

I can speak of deception

For the killer...is me

J. Douglas Stephenson