A Murderous Campaign Poem by Blanche Hardin

Going about like life’s a joy, But in reality your nothing but a servant.
You're someones little toy.
Hiding your feelings, and attempting to please.
As they ridicule you and push you to your knees.
You hope for relief, But there’s no reply.
Why can’t God hear you cry?
At the brink of a revolution,
You come across a solution.
In the dead of night,
You’re dressed in white.
Wielding a butcher’s knife, you creep into the room slowly.
With the handle to the blade cold and clutched in your claws.
You kill the man and his wife.