I look upon it now, as if it were a flower.
The seed was the thought as it first came to mind.
My hate was the sunlight, my rage was the shower.
It sprouted and there with my heart intertwined.

And, oh, how I basked in the beauty it bore;
The bud and it's blooming were such a delight.
I knew that my vengeance awaited no more.
The score would be settled and thus be made right.

So when it was ripe, and ready to reap,
I plucked that fair flower and stole my revenge,
Then placed it before me, forever to keep,
Gazing insanely, caressing its fringe.

But short of forever it wilted and died,
Just like the man I had carefully killed.
Now all I have left is the dust of my pride,
And a void in my heart that can never be filled.