Whiteside

- Whiteside-
by Keaton Foster



His hands
The man
Whiteside
A monster
From the past
Presently present
He won’t go
In my head
In my heart
Dare I say
In my soul
He still lives
The physical representation
An unquantifiable aberration
Deceased
Killed by me
Two to the heart
One to the face
Buried deep
In the woods
Under a tree
No one will see
Only ever me
In the forest it stands
Amongst hundreds
But be assured
I know exactly the one
Whiteside
His name
His legacy
And thus heresy
He had no children
Just monsters created
Via his actions
I am just one
I’m sure
Without question
There are many
I was brave
Fearless
He pushed too far
The victim
Easily became
The victimizer
I have no regrets
He deserved to die
No one ever
Not a single soul
Came to look
No one ever asked
What happened to him
Such a lack of concern
To me proves my point
He deserved what he got
Two to the heart
One to the face
Identifiable
No way
Unforgettable
In every possible way
Whiteside
Deceased
Killed by me
One of his victims
The bravest of them all
I dug his would be grave
Led him to his doom
And I put him down
All before I was sixteen
God may forgive me
Then again he may not
That matters none
I had to stop
What he had become
And what he had done
Justice was served
At a price I willingly paid
And continue to pay
I’d like to forget
But some events in life
Are meant to remain
As a way to remind us
Of what we have done
Because of what was
Done to us…



Whiteside
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014.