Blood Lust
Intoxicated by a fleeting madness
A triumphant thrill courses through his veins
Ears deaf to the wails of desperation
Eyes blind to the sight of destruction
He hurls the child back inside the blazing church
Without a backward glance he walks away
Blood lust sated
Will he sleep that night?
Will he dream that night?
Will he dream of victory
Of vanquished enemies
The stench of burning flesh
Rivers of blood
Or the pain-ravaged faces of babies?
When all is done and said
Will he ever delight at the sound of children’s laughter?
‘We told them to come out of the church, but they locked the door … So we burned them
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Will he ever delight at the sound of children’s laughter?
or will it continue to haunt him or her? Do murderers ever get haunted by their vile deeds or is Out, damn’d spot just a regret felt by the few and far between?
I wonder
Sighs and tears. I wonder if he will reconcile himself with deeds done. God help us, all of us.
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