By Pavel Chichikov
The burning of adrenalin
Soldiers' liquor, hunters' bane
Now will God defend His son
Though killers trample on the scene
Epiphany that never was
Child of grace already gone
To be again before the cause
To hear the teaching of a thorn
As if they could have searched the sky
Stabbed the morning through an eye –
Now will God defend His son,
Killers' master, one by one
Can murder slip into His sleeves
With arms appareled in the grave?
Something that will never be:
A murderers' epiphany
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)
