I am Rikimaru; I am Shadow

Writer, Poet, Social Commentator


He was wearing a large overcoat

Drops of rains mottled on his throat

He had just this ultimate chance

To seek refuge far in France.

He had planned painstakingly

From known faces, had flee;

Shapeless shadows slipping through dark corners

His last hope to meet, like secret lovers.

He had no choice, he mused

A perfect plan, perfectly fused.


The rain fell harder

His heart racing faster

The wind picked up, taking off his hat

The beggars seeking refuge, hand in mat

This wasn’t the plan he thought.

Then he felt the eyes; he knew he had been caught.

Sirens filled the air as he panicked

The first shot hit his heart as he blackened

Falling and falling knowing he had been betrayed.

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This entry was posted on September 10, 2013 by in Musings, Poetry and tagged , .


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