Maximus Poem by Ankur Beohar

I breathe the stale air of demise
It's the stench of death that makes me walk upright
torrid it seems to the humans alone
For beasts and me, this anathema is a state bygone.

I am Maximus, the pursuant of vital life
In the wake of my character is instilled my spirit's pride
Born to kill, I release from it's confinements the soul
It matters little if my job is what the world abhors

I am an artist with the greatest of skills
Patience of a hunter, my hand's accuracy leads to my prey's peril
And when the precise shot punctures the mortal heart
it's my role's end, and also it's the end of their part

I am often the subject of grave despair
The society loathes me, and often makes me feel bare
of the feelings of the longing and the truth as I kneel
and as I bow beneath the stones of the lord of death's heel

I feel free, as I take those glorious strides
It's the game of the nature, and everyone has heard the cries
The kill and the killed are part of the same vital chain
The philosophy of death is oblivious only for the insane.

Or maybe, I am sure, they fail to relate the two cause,
For when I do it for the king, my march is filled with applause
If I do it for the myself, they feel abdicated of their authority
It's for their love of power that they yearn for my passivity.