His duty is to hold the fears
of our lives within the wooden frame
of his interior
As he grimly sits by
permitting only the chosen few
who understand the call of blood
Tatooed
His arms and legs reveal
the distinct design of
his rite of passage
A shadow
he wears a cropped cluster
of burnt hay
above his lofty head
Immortal
his hands shield
his ears from screams
of vestal virgins
Wicked
His purpose
manifests as a Hitman on call
