Arsonist

Even afterward, you can hear a bird warble
as distance breaks the sound barrier. 
The stark silence returns to the early morning
and is met with an equally desolate landscape. 
The sun is hours from rising over the hills,
but the odor of the burnt underbrush floats
on the breezes with the heavy stench 
of a corpse in transition from putrid.
You can sense the repugnance;
the black and singed flesh and flora 
of the arsonist’s blaze is ripe with smug antipathy.
He watched. He watches still. He memorizes
every detail of his terrorist act, but he sees it as an angelic gift 
that he has bestowed upon this ravine. 
Indeed that bird’s last cry is music 
to his depraved and malicious will. 
Early morning soon arrives. 
She smells like death. 
He feels satisfied.

undawnted

A writer at heart, Undawnted's own creative spark, DL Mullan, began writing short stories and poetry before adolescence. Ms. Mullan decided to showcase her literary talents by publishing collections of her poems. She also writes novels, designs...

More about me