The Assassins

A poem about Assassins.

The Assassins

 

Any simple untrained fool

Can swing a sword or cast a spell

It takes a special kind of skill

To raise a special kind of hell.

We do not see the light of day

We prefer our work done at night

We slink around deserted streets

We make sure we stay out of sight.

A man walks happy, strong and proud

Yet he does not suspect that we

Have a contract to make him die

And as we sneak, he does not see.

He turns a corner, sees a blade

But by then it is much too late

The blade rakes 'cross his exposed neck

Another casualty of fate.

So now, beware, if you should choose

To tempt the fates, the Powers High,

Do not worry, we shall be there

To swoop upon you from up high.

 

End.

Author's Note

I hope you liked it. Critique and commend!