Case 63: Homicide

The circle of blood creeps forward,
Rightfully claiming what is not mine.
The screaming crescendos louder and louder,
Until mine heart couldn’t beat a rhyme.

Doors slamming closed, yet another never opens.
Trying to stop the stench of death from seeping through.

The brick wall has yet to be built,
The cask of wine almost drank.
The evidence shall be buried shortly,
But the body, that, cannot wait.

The tools that were used were worn with wear.
The hand that wields them well composed.

White paint is fresh upon the air.
Double coats just to be sure.
That none of the gore that was splattered,
Shall never again return.

The corpse is dragged to the cemetery.
Tossed into the neatly dug grave,
Finley wrapped, and with a bow, is thrown a present on top.
Silently whispering his final farewell. . .

“Merry Christmas my dear.”



Chelsea J L Kieler