Silverware Knives Poem by Aimee Brimson

We hear you;
We see the knife you hold,
Lurking in the shadows to be told.
Outside the window,
We saw them be stabbed
you've got no apology no doubt for what you've done.
Is that the wrong description?
Taking shelter in the shadows like a hostile militant.
No other lives, you could of surfeit.
No theory, religious beliefs
Could save their life, for there they sat.
You held the knife in your pocket
In once an innocent hand
But then you raised the blade
And pierced the skin with no aid.
Led quite bare, you walked away
Never learning your silverware.