by Nick Gisburne
The faceless, hidden widow is not weak
She chooses not to illustrate her grief
Maligned by fate, her future may be bleak
But life for those who burned it will be brief
The doorway where her lover fell, to die
Beneath the brutal butchery of crooks
Is where she gives her promise, to the sky:
Revenge will write a balance in the books
She knows the ways to hypnotise a man
To shatter his defences is the game
And so she weaves a cold, exquisite plan
For each of seven killers, each the same
And every worthless victim, lured by hate
Will pray for life, for mercy, all too late
