The dark man walked the street,
three blocks left for him to go.
A slow and steady stroll.
A hunter searching for prey,
tonight he was here for a man.
Fifty six with wife and kids,
his heart was about to give.
The dark man had a mission,
and was quiet as he approached,
the house where his target lived.
A small bungalow, with charm,
the family was having dinner.
No need for a bell, he entered,
and he was paid no mind,
as he approached the father.
Pain drawn on his face.
The heart attack was here.
The family alarmed but not seeing.
The dark man approached.
He stuck out his bony hand,
ending the husband’s mortal coil.
With that it was done and he left,
walking through the doorway.
A new mission calling to him.
Poetry
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