POETRY on {Wrath}: Ripper

I am a killer of women,

no one

more dangerous than me and my billions

of brothers,

all seemingly born of stone

and fox and old soldiers.

Rape is a spoil

of war,

the generals never sharing

the palace riches;

the enlisted men

take their gold from the peasants,

the daughters

of the fields.

And when the battles have all

ended,

where is that mad lust to be spent,

that pent up evolution?

Where is blood

meant to be spilled but in the conquering?

For aren’t we fit,

and aren’t we surviving?

Tell me again of the science,

logic

that turns these young things into possessions.

This piece is a response to this week’s 7 DEADLY SINS writing prompt. If you’d like to be featured in The Prompt, send us a 400-700 word response to this week’s prompt and always, we’ll print the best submissions.