It’s just a name,
I tell myself
as I notch my arrow and
narrow my eyes.
It’s just a name,
I know it is,
just another name that
has to die.
Some letters on a piece of paper,
a foreign title I will never know,
ink and words and nothing more-
no room for any emotion to show.
It’s just a name,
I know it is,
a job to be done and
coin to collect.
It’s just a name,
I tell myself
as I aim my arrow at
his neck.
Fantasy fiction is one of my favorite genres to read and write in, and this poem taps in to a bit of my recent work. The character here is obviously an assassin who is feeling conflicted about her career choice (though of course she won’t admit it).
Stellular Scribe 