Identity Crisis

I’ve been hobbled and cannot hope
To embrace this life: no way to cope.
You’ve robbed me of child, my son.
You’ve saved the world but I’m undone.
You could not save my little boy.
Gratitude: I doubt I could employ.
I sit with pain deep inside
But cannot keep it there to hide.

I express the need to balance scales:
Beat you ‘til you’re moans and wails.
Months expound as plans congeal
But there’s no way for you to feel
What you have done: what you took away.
You’ve no child with whom you play.
I choose to hunt and end your life,
And leave behind your homely wife.

Once vengeance has been quenched and lost,
I look at myself and think of the cost.
For years, I’ve been seeking your hide,
Hoping to bring a crimson tide:
Drown you in an ocean of fear;
Taste a single, salty tear.
But with you now gone, what’s to do?
I’ve based my life on killing you.

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