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the dying man says

power corrupts
control disrupts

I’ve witnessed it
I’ve felt it
been trapped by it

I’ve dreamt of revenge my entire life
the sweet victory of taking down the oppressor
the one who left the scars not visible to the naked eye
but this hurt always leaves a trail
and finds a new way to consume me once again

humiliating, beating and degrading all who disturbed his peace

what kind of man is he?

he is me

but he doesn’t have to be

the tables have turned
and the weak have become the strong
as he stares into the great unknown,
reflecting on a life of he’s forced to call his own.

bitter and cruel
frustrated with life,
he ruled with a iron fist

in the end,
the universe collects for our sins
for some, it’s earlier than we’d expect

a man creates his own legacy
paying for the life he leads.

but what of evil men?
do they deserve mercy in their final days?
or treat them the way they tortured the world?

the choice makes a man

no need to forgive his aggressor
but how he treats the powerless
reflects his true nature

despite all the bruises,
in places that’ll never heal,
I didn’t let the world,
or any man in it,
turn me cruel

and that’s more than the dying man can say.

Published inWeak Ass Poetry

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