The world is in a soft descent
As henchmen bend away from dawn
toward their cowardly silhouettes.
With the pull of a trigger or slice by the blade
The stage of tragedy is set
Upon their chests the black stone laid.
Three new stars appear in the darkening sky
Above the scattered flames of the sun
Nefarious actors take no rest
But even in shadows,
lights work is never done.
I see 3 everywhere, and 21, 40 missing, and 141,
and thousands upon thousands
As many stars as sweet souls there are
From each death, another candle lit
By a cold black murderers match
struck, then dropped, to Jahannam sent,
their cloaks of death, expended, rent.
Innocent victims as gems amassed
From bright varied palettes and colors, cast
by dying breath, lifts a shroud,
shifts the night by radiant cloud
Until that black flag, itself,
is blotted out.