Subterfuge twinned with brutality.
This is the way of the hard to see.
Hiding in shadows, waiting to strike.
Do you really think you’ll make it out alive?
Gust of wind or was it more?
Wet smack as bloody meat hits the floor.
Fear is gripping and it won’t let go.
Your legs scream run but do not though.
You think us spectres.
We are not so ethereal.
Might wish we were a fiction.
But soon you will known the truth.
Target marked and its you.
Muffled call drowned in red.
Look around to see all your friends are dead.
Immobilised by your terror.
This hubris is now your final error.
Beg for mercy but none will come.
Your crimes are butchery against the shogun.
Sealed your fate when you went rogue.
Too interested in following what’s become vogue.
Terror strike.
No more light.
Fade away.
Dead by the end of this last autumn day.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 