to kill a man with prayer

what a small awkward man you were
with a voice like that of a childs whine or a squeaky floor board

quiet and decietful was your way as you walked upon this earth

many found joy in your company
while only those who knew you best saw you as
the man you were
- a man who faked empathy and valued gold more than compassion

you suffocated others with your pompous air and killed two men with your prayers

you were the kind of person who looked at a crowd and saw only yourself

you saw another man's tragedy and made it your own.
you were a theif of stories and sadness
writing about other's terror - making monsters out of men
and gods out of monsters


how good of you to realize:
"More tears are shed over answered prayers than over unanswered ones."

that for which you prayed, mr. capote, the death of those men, eventually killed you.