Assassin - Poem by Diane Hine
I only hunt killers,
web weavers, trappers of innocents,
tormenters and destroyers,
my conscience is...nonexistent.
My instincts are attuned,
I'm hungry for this work- my missions,
as if by nature assigned,
incapable of contrition.
No disturbance,...no waves,
a slight presence, conservatively clothed.
I can fit in tight spaces,
take precise and painstaking steps.
Avoid warning tripwires,
my targets are so well protected.
agility is essential.
The powerful are high-risk,
strongholds have vice-like security.
Put one foot wrong and I'm caught,
a hunter becomes a victim.
If seen, they'll run or fight.
I kill with quiet efficiency,
stretch my long graceful neck,
probing antennae…tap, tap, tap.
My piercing mouth is poised; I stab.
No ordinary thug,
I'm a giraffe assassin bug
and my prey is....spider.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
It hunts spiders in rocky crevices.
Comments about Assassin by Diane Hine
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You