The Poet.

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This is a novel I'm writing set in a near-future world, very unstable and corrupt I hope you like it so far.

I am The Poet. In this unforgiving and grotesque world the scum of society domains the top regions of our corrupt hierarchy, I am only a mere poet. A exist solely to help wrench this sewer of inhabitance to see its many faults and flaws. Once we correct the ways of our own unique evil peace might in some corrupt way be restored. I will remain under the name the Poet for reason of the thought of some person?s definition of insanity.
So to begin I am not a leader, but a cause. By eliminating the political evils we will increase an agreement among the populace of a true and whole-hearted idea of: GOOD. How you may as will we do so in a humane, orderly, and respectfully way? The answer simply is that we won?t. There will be no humane limits to be considered. The order of life to death is most assured. As for respectfully, they give not respect to ourselves leading to them receive not of it from us. Our true power is not in are individual selves nor our combined spirit but simply in the empowerment of the supported idea, being the betterment of living through dismissing the lives of the corrupt.
This next area is the controversial belief of mine through steel and bullet we rid ourselves of these creatures, so my sick and twisted story of the death of many figureheads in the world being stricken down by the ideas of mine own begins.
DAY: 1
This has been a most successful day for me, in the fact of having one member of President William Right?s presidential cabinet quite literally biting the bullet, this morning. He was found dead in his home at noon, with photographic evidence of him being bribe via a woman into help to convince Pres. Right to sign a gay right bill. His wife has had not comments in the matter. As stated before not to bad for day one.
DAY: 2
Today I started as a criminologist would possibly call a signature of serial killing. After kill corrupt senator Rick Marcello, I saw on his nightstand a piece of torn paper and a pen. Unable to resist my poetic sense I begin to write. Soon after the poem is tacked to his chest, it when as following:
   The Author?s Blade
It has been said before that an
authors pen is the sharpest of swords,
So then that you know my blade I will run it through your veins,
She is the savior of the weak,
and the messiah of the abused,
She is the lone traveler on a forgotten day,
Her child she bear are Truth and Knowledge,
My Blade is married to Justice,
Stinging the heart of poet and the common man is her goal,
Her father was Rage and he mother be Anger,
The darling I wield on my quill is Wraith.   
                  ~The Poet
I very much so liked this idea and believe I will repeat it in the future. Day two went very well I must say.
DAY: 3
With a similar situation to the first of the scum of politicians this man, you may all now as the famous senator Jack Bolin, had unfortunately cheated on his dear and loving wife. While in the end he paid with his life. Though I gave him a poem that went like this:
   The True Light
I write as the light as never been written,
But I write a proper truth,
In saying that light is nothing more,
Than the corrupted image of youth,
And light has never shone itself on my face this day,
As I sit here now only dark is here to embrace,
That is not much of a troubling fate,
For I see that light is only twisted darkness,
Only disguised by an ironic smile.
                  ~The Poet
I thought to my self after this day the poems would not be personally about the people for that would be rather grim, but instead about things in my life.

DAY: 4
The officials of the law are now starting an investigation on my cause. ?We have further more named the case code name, POET, due to the killer?s habit of leaving a short poem embedded in the victims body. We talk to Police Commissar John Smith about the matter; he said only this on the matter: This creature should not even call itself a human begin it is an abomination to this country and will be soon silenced. The police have yet to produce any leads in the case.
~ The Washington News Broadcast
Sitting here now I chortle at the police the ?lapdogs? of the corrupt they to have let the evil ways of greed enter there ranks, they to will have there day of reckoning. For now I must take the day off as the Poet and be as everyone else, normal, I to am only human.

DAY: 5
The political figures that have died today were all involved in a dog fighting organization. I find this very displeasing in the fact that these are the men who also run our country but be not surprised for they have pay the price of there sins. The poem I wrote was to a attractive women whom I meet only yesterday, she is absolutely incredible. The poem was as following:
   Oh Darling Rose
To my Rose,
while being surrounded by flowers your
sweet scent still entices me to pick
you.
No being on this Earth can even
compare to your beauty,
with the graceful balance of an angel
being agile but yet elegant,
hair that glistens like the wild
darkness which no one can seem to
tame,
but as beautiful as your shining black
locks your eyes captivate me,
when gazing into them time itself
seems to melt away leaving but only
you,
be in trouble or pain expect me by
your side offering comfort,
You are the Rose.
You are my Rose.
      ~The Poet
The call me the Poet like I?m an outcast, but I am alike to you all in everyway.