He Flew Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He did not have the time to even whisper
the reasons for that crime against his kin,
there was no room inside my damaged heart
for any mercy or a whiff of past humanity.
I did not use the polished Turkish dagger
on him, that would have been revenge,
that one is still in place, conveying pain.
I've longed for years to climb the highest mountain,
but never dreamed to watch a human fly
there was no sound until the impact far below.
Was it a fitting end, it's not for me to know.