Turn of the Century
"I was a man once, whole and true," A voice from the darkness spoken,
"Not the thing that you now see: battered, bruised, and broken."
"I was a man once, whole and true," a voice from the darkness hissed,
"I know not what I am now but time as man is sorely missed."
I peered into the darkness smooth, I looked for voice's body,
I reached down slow, pulled out my gun, and told him, "You've been naughty."
With a snort he did retort, "That's quite the understatement."
"I have slaughtered many men, and I see no soon abatement."
The voice, it sneered, and carried on, and me, I gladly let it.
for every second that it talked was a second I hadn't met it.
I needed in the darkness to find the voice's source,
but also needed to avoid the slaughtering, of course.
"If I told you," asked the voice, "That they were all bad men,
If I told you that small truth, tell me sir, what then?"
"Then," I stuttered, not so quickly thinking of reply,
"Then you would still be sought out, but not, I swear, by I."
The voice paused, then, "They were bad men, every single one.
Each one amongst deserved to die, I did what must be done.
You cannot see the things I see, and now you never will,
but those bad men would bring the world nothing at all but ill."
"How many was it," the voice I asked, "That you did kill that night?"
"That night?" it caught me quite offguard, "The numbers were but slight
portions of my full docket, numbering in the hundreds.
That night, only twenty or so, but they hadn't earned their heads."
"I took from them what they'd not earned, and then I carried onwards,
borne on the wings of my success, I used one stone for two birds.
The deaths of those men meant a lot, but others would replace them
in the grand scheme, so to these seconds I sent heads - no problem."
The voice it spoke, it carried on, and still I advanced further,
probing inwards looking for the voice, it's source, or either.
"What would these men do," I asked, "That made their deaths so right?"
"You cannot understand," said voice, "the darkness of their night."
"If I told you how I quite knew then you would think me mad.
Perhaps," voice said, then chuckled, "You already do...how sad.
Jumping to conclusions of things you don't know about,
So afraid to maybe let a bit of the true truth out."
I found the source then of the voice, but it was not expected.
A machine lay there on the floor, I hadn't known, but he did.
"As I told you," the machine said, "I was a man, one time.
That time now is sadly gone, I'm here, displaced in time."
"And now we see," said voice to me, "why you would think me crazy.
I was a man, but now am not, belief becomes some hazy."
"What are you?" I asked in fear, raising up then my pistol.
"I?" said voice "I am your doom." and with that, my weapon stole.
He crushed it down, my sole defense, between two metal hands,
Then to me the same he did, and then the machine stands.
It walks out past my cooling corpse without a downwards glance,
no more to be sought by me, it's fate chosen by chance.
As for me, there I did die, crushed small upon the floor,
I met my end, and there I stay, hunt criminals no more.
And in the end I do not know what brought about my death,
the instrument of my demise is unknown, to my last breath.
"Not the thing that you now see: battered, bruised, and broken."
"I was a man once, whole and true," a voice from the darkness hissed,
"I know not what I am now but time as man is sorely missed."
I peered into the darkness smooth, I looked for voice's body,
I reached down slow, pulled out my gun, and told him, "You've been naughty."
With a snort he did retort, "That's quite the understatement."
"I have slaughtered many men, and I see no soon abatement."
The voice, it sneered, and carried on, and me, I gladly let it.
for every second that it talked was a second I hadn't met it.
I needed in the darkness to find the voice's source,
but also needed to avoid the slaughtering, of course.
"If I told you," asked the voice, "That they were all bad men,
If I told you that small truth, tell me sir, what then?"
"Then," I stuttered, not so quickly thinking of reply,
"Then you would still be sought out, but not, I swear, by I."
The voice paused, then, "They were bad men, every single one.
Each one amongst deserved to die, I did what must be done.
You cannot see the things I see, and now you never will,
but those bad men would bring the world nothing at all but ill."
"How many was it," the voice I asked, "That you did kill that night?"
"That night?" it caught me quite offguard, "The numbers were but slight
portions of my full docket, numbering in the hundreds.
That night, only twenty or so, but they hadn't earned their heads."
"I took from them what they'd not earned, and then I carried onwards,
borne on the wings of my success, I used one stone for two birds.
The deaths of those men meant a lot, but others would replace them
in the grand scheme, so to these seconds I sent heads - no problem."
The voice it spoke, it carried on, and still I advanced further,
probing inwards looking for the voice, it's source, or either.
"What would these men do," I asked, "That made their deaths so right?"
"You cannot understand," said voice, "the darkness of their night."
"If I told you how I quite knew then you would think me mad.
Perhaps," voice said, then chuckled, "You already do...how sad.
Jumping to conclusions of things you don't know about,
So afraid to maybe let a bit of the true truth out."
I found the source then of the voice, but it was not expected.
A machine lay there on the floor, I hadn't known, but he did.
"As I told you," the machine said, "I was a man, one time.
That time now is sadly gone, I'm here, displaced in time."
"And now we see," said voice to me, "why you would think me crazy.
I was a man, but now am not, belief becomes some hazy."
"What are you?" I asked in fear, raising up then my pistol.
"I?" said voice "I am your doom." and with that, my weapon stole.
He crushed it down, my sole defense, between two metal hands,
Then to me the same he did, and then the machine stands.
It walks out past my cooling corpse without a downwards glance,
no more to be sought by me, it's fate chosen by chance.
As for me, there I did die, crushed small upon the floor,
I met my end, and there I stay, hunt criminals no more.
And in the end I do not know what brought about my death,
the instrument of my demise is unknown, to my last breath.