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| courtesy google.com |
Pain, fear, un-remorseful jabs on his face.
Wide open palms
swinging to his cheek bone
Tightened fists to face Head butts, kicks, spits and
rants Swinging club to knee.
Crack! crack!, the ribs are sounding,
Heart is pacing.
A joint feeling of fear and pain Cripples the spine
...Can you see through his eyes?
The mob.
Running through the wind in fear,
The crowd behind him, hurling things in the air
Slicing
through his fear ...Objects breezing near.
They catch up to him.
Bang! On the head, rolls on floor
Pounding increasing accompanying the uproar.
Sticks, planks and metals rising up and down to
his almost lifeless body...
In symphony of a determined goal; the kill.
His sight is blurred,
with tears and blood.
Rod to the chest planks to head left for dead.
Tyres roll in, then gasoline and match.
Strike!... There was fire... Then nothing.
Mob disperses.
