ivor or ivor.e hogg

Rookie (7/4/1934 / Hebburn.Co Durham U.K)

Frustrated Ambition. - Poem by ivor or ivor.e hogg

Frustrated ambition.

I can remember vividly
The first person that I chose to kill.
Although selected randomly.
It somehow made me feel fulfilled.

No longer a non entity.
Overlooked by everyone.
It proved my capability
To make my name and be someone.

I thought about it constantly.
I knew that I must kill again
I felt a growing certainty
my only thought was to regain.

The rush of the adrenaline
The sense of power which it brought.
As if the whole wide world was mine.
That was the feeling which I sought.

Though when my second victim died
My pleasure was not so intense
and I was left unsatisfied
Which did not seem to make much sense.

When I killed victim number three
There was no rushed adrenaline.
Which only served to convince me
That killing had become routine.

I had not yet achieved my aim.
Although killing had lost its thrill.
The only way I would gain fame
Was by continuing to kill.

I will defy the threatened rain
To add another to my score
Tonight I mean to kill again
and claim my victim number four.

Though others have killed many more
To earn their place in history.
I aim to beat the highest score.
I’m sure I will eventually.

Because I’ve only just begun
I study the case histories.
Familiar with everyone
I find that this inspires me.

To choose my victims carefully
and not at random as before
and change my M.O frequently
Whilst I am racking up my score.

Six years have passed my final score
I don’t believe can be surpassed.
by anyone who’s gone before.
Perhaps the time has come at last

For me to claim the fame that’s due.
Because I have successfully
Achieved what I set out to do.
By confessing publically.

The best laid plans can go awry.
The powers that be were satisfied
My story was a fantasy.
And so they had me certified.

No access to publicity
I never got the chance to boast.
Perhaps a fitting penalty
Organised by a vengeful ghost.

They keep me safely locked away
With no access to the outside.
Though I am certain that one day
All my claims will be verified.

Some one will find my record book
Containing records of my kills.
But when I tell them where to look
They do not listen: no one will.

Tuesday,13 December 2011
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 14, 2011



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