Ode To 47 Poem by Joseph Acuna
Ode To 47
A sudden syringe in my neck,
A hot lead piece that pierces me.
Fiber wire across my throat,
He chokes me with silent emptiness.
Empty of mind, empty of conscience,
Empty of soul.
Neither likes nor dislikes,
Life and death in a constant dance around him.
Mr. Byrd.
Dr. Cropse
The Professional,
Agent 47.
Monday, September 28, 2009
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4/30/2024 4:46:18 AM # 1.0.0.1119
