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He walks the street by day,
Greeting little children with a smile,
And taking the old across the street as reputable citizens would,
Stop the wickedness
You think me no know a who
A hide
Behind the balaclava
Maiming indiscriminatingly,
The vulnerable and the weak.

Feeling happy and fulfill
After every brutish act
Your unquenchable thirst for evil
From behind the balaclava.


Hunter of the weak
Stalker of the innocent
Breaker of the law



Brutality get you high,
The trademark of a warped mind,
From behind the balaclava.


The audience is stunned
You are satisfied
Big men peering through windows behind curtains
Boys peeping around corners
Too coward to utter a single word of condemnation
Lest they too become victims
By your brutality hidden behind the balaclava.


Who is behind the balaclava?
No one knows
For all, we know,
You could be a neighbor
A best friend
Our friend’s father
Our boss
No one knows.
But what everyone knows is
The atrocities and wickedness
Amplifies one hundred percent
When you’re behind the balaclava. End.


Dennis is an urban poet with a rural mind. He reads poems for fun and writes them for a living. His pen is his weapon and the paper is his tool. He appreciates poets and never misses the opportunity to read their work. He never stops writing poetry, because he believes that persistence will win in the end.

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