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His mind was cultured for vicious activities,
His passion criminal perfections and dual identities,
His soul lingered on malicious immoralities,
His goal to torture and destroy individualities.
He stood on the gateway with a loaded gun,
He opened the gate just after the setting of the sun.
He walked quietly, his target he would stun,
He would then fire a bullet, his job would be done.
He pushed open the door, without making a sound,
His path was blocked by a huge bloodhound.
He moved stealthily, he took a full round,
His mission would end if he was found.
His executions were perfect, he was never caught,
He had trained for years, his lessons – self-taught.
He was a mastermind, he won all battles he fought,
His enemies were all left to rot.
He entered his target’s living room,
His prey could see the impending doom.
He pulled the trigger, there was a boom,
He threw the body into the closet that had a broom.
His humane feelings, he had managed to smother,
His guilty conscience would flow away like water.
He however, now felt a pang of bother,
He had shot down his very own father.