Shane Ward- Age: 20

January 10, 2008

The Desert Destroyer

The solidity of this man fills the air.

He arrives, his spurs fetter him to his drunken state.

Darkness abode, he cripples his knuckles.

His beard burning in the red sun.

God is dethroned on this dilapidated day.

Dogmatic intrusions foresee the tarnishing of this town.

His ideology speaks through his body language.

He wears a talisman around his neck-

Paying homage to the lore of his own.

No one dare inquest upon his iconic self-

Else invoke a rematch. Fortnight or two.

He is a well-endowed, disemboweled man.

Abhorrently, viciously away from all the monstrosities of mankind.

He is a blade runner of sorts, his own slaughterhouse.

His vice is being alive. Inconspicuous to the enticing shadows.

He is unconquerable and revitalizes the revelation he emits.

Misconstrued, though irradiating his own evil.

Birth decay. A convoluted, veering piece of others' own reprimanding.

His only treason is his woefully, weathered self entering his own grounds.

A magnitude so intense the severity is death. All else are unnerving, mute gesticulations.

He allows ample time for his entrance. His belt carrying canopic jars.

He is dubbed "The Desert Destroyer."