The wretched ambiance of the night passed through his sheath,

Manifested the melancholy paramour beneath.

The secluded fireflies in the skull were now aloof,

The fireflies cried through the fingers in search of long waited proof.

The ugly trail had a fetid of ominous consequences,

Yet the odour of peace post the smoking gun had lustrous glances.

The execution had a disturbing celerity,

And abstinence in it had tremor of clarity.

Blended emotions were now about to set free,

Answers of questions that were buried in spree.

So the anticipated truth yet had a thrill,

Naked and mundane, no bean was left to spill.

Futile lies were worth a giggle now,

He spared no trace and giggle turned to guffaw.

Fun fact was a poet found in void,

Who most certainly was to be decoyed.

He smiled as he laid his eyes on the Greenhorn’s poetry,

He realized the inception of a better poet on the flip side of chicanery.