The Novel Poem by Matthew Holloway

The novel

And so, it comes to pass even a good man must kill

Love the intoxication thereof consumes the mind and soul
Overwhelms the logic process of thought
Such is the reason for this confession

Beauty is a betrayal of common sense
And beauty is the finest liquor known to man
To become drunk upon it a twisted sense
Of some strange luxury

And when intoxicated in such a way
What we will do, be willing to
Leads to the destruction of our very selves

On her arrival the world changed
For her anything would be considered
No limitations to the heart's affections
Jealousy, desire, infatuation

A sense of fear, a request
Was all I took to change
The world, every perception
To know you would do anything

A protector, guardian
A soldier, warrior, hero
In one's own soul at least
And so it seemed to be

Her lips curled like petals
The purest of flowers ever known
Holder of such sweet nectar
There to be fed upon
Honey dew upon the tongue

Sweet words whispered
Into wanton ears
A request be a command
To the heart and soul
Each must follow

Her fear became
My greatest foe
One I felt obliged to slay
Her words my decree
To wage such a war

And so, I stepped forward
Declared a sense of honour
Whilst blind I continued
To battle I headed

A night soon came
Never to be forgotten
How actions change you
Change all you know
All in the name of love

A walk in the dark
Through alleys and alike
Darkened passageways
A stalked pray

A strike in her name
A strike in her request
For desire and love it became
Something that had to be
A slaying of a demon
For how they were seen

And to the confession
A man, a soul, slain, killed
Due to her fear, or my own
An action came to be
Blunt force trauma

However good a man may be
Love can undo all any action taken
And where desire overwhelms
The blindness falls over all

So, a good man may kill
Without rhyme nor reason
For love, that drug, addiction
So ends this verse, story
So ends this confession