The Assassin
Languidly
Leaves listlessly
Leaning
Rustling, Sighing, Seething
With thoughts of Rain
The rain that does not come
With it’s sweet smell
Of Innocence and Ozone
This Rising Assassin we call Heat
Rising before the sun, he comes
With his Great Killing Swaths
Bleaching the world of Color
Sapping the strength of those
Who would Fight him
The Assassin laughs at their efforts
They perspire, offering up more of their water
To Him
He kisses it off of their body
A lover couldn’t be more thorough in their embrace
He is the vampire who walks by day
Drinking not blood, but water
Leaving only iron and cellulose
Where once there were plants, animals and humans
Cities fall before him into dust
Even building are too tired to
Do anything but lay down in submission
Before him
Bridges crumble, damns drain dry of water and crack open.
He is Soulless
The once nurturing eye of our yellow sun
Turned ruthless, heartless, brutal
Death himself is more kind
He would bend himself down
And put his cool hand on our brow
Now we bake in The Assassin’s oven
Listlessly waiting for death to bring ease
The trees pull their roots from the ground
To escape it from burning their feet
No escape for any of us
We have entered the Valley of Death
Where The Assassin never sleeps