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Poetry News Post #4039

The Assassination and the Aftermath

Written by: Tsneaky Tsunami Tsair Starwell-Ashaela, Hissing Harlequin
Date: Sunday, July 15th, 2012
Addressed to: Everyone


I walked in darkness; tread in shadow, I moved with poise and grace
My steps were sheltered; my guise was shallow, while I picked up my pace
Into the alleys I withdrew, the plan premeditated
Until the target came about, I simply stood and waited.
The hours passed as seconds, until time came about
The target had begun to pass upon expected route.
My dirk came at the ready, my whip was held aloft
?Til he came by upon his chariot, and quickly was yanked off.
Moments later, jaundice crept, his breathing came erratic
Until the blood ceased to seep, and his body became static
Another mark upon my brow, another death to claim
No news shall call of my existence, and I shall gain no fame
My success is listed not by number, nor by the payment?s sheen
The only path unto my glory is by what goes unseen.
I traveled home, welcomed by family, my wife and beaming son
Never could they understand the extent of what I?ve done.
I smile and talk of a life of lies, a fake questing and some work,
All the while remembering the blood upon my dirk.


Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Scarlatan, in the year 601 AF.


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Poetry News Post #4039

The Assassination and the Aftermath

Written by: Tsneaky Tsunami Tsair Starwell-Ashaela, Hissing Harlequin
Date: Sunday, July 15th, 2012
Addressed to: Everyone


I walked in darkness; tread in shadow, I moved with poise and grace
My steps were sheltered; my guise was shallow, while I picked up my pace
Into the alleys I withdrew, the plan premeditated
Until the target came about, I simply stood and waited.
The hours passed as seconds, until time came about
The target had begun to pass upon expected route.
My dirk came at the ready, my whip was held aloft
?Til he came by upon his chariot, and quickly was yanked off.
Moments later, jaundice crept, his breathing came erratic
Until the blood ceased to seep, and his body became static
Another mark upon my brow, another death to claim
No news shall call of my existence, and I shall gain no fame
My success is listed not by number, nor by the payment?s sheen
The only path unto my glory is by what goes unseen.
I traveled home, welcomed by family, my wife and beaming son
Never could they understand the extent of what I?ve done.
I smile and talk of a life of lies, a fake questing and some work,
All the while remembering the blood upon my dirk.


Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Scarlatan, in the year 601 AF.


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