“The sure footed fist struck forth,

The still standing foe revives remnant hesitation.

Hanging on a moment and by a single word,

The one that trembles first,

Flinches, falters and sure to fall.

There wash your hand of guilt,

For the landed blow must follow through.

To reach the blissful land of death;

Murder and kill.”

Romantic poems collection vol. III, by the Wog of Jabe