Its mission to injure is clear.
The lack of mere contrition
On wings, it comes swaggering
up to its victim
with a self-righteous dictum
written in blood.
At first just a drop, then a flood
down my arm of glistening red.
Before it could harm with another bite,
I would smite it dead.
© Susan Schoeffield
Written for the 9/14/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings to write a poem using an animal or creature as a metaphor for an emotion or attribute.