Swat

What darkness is it when killing, 
a sense of joy, does contrive?
Is it the dark of soul, willing?
Or dark, the nature to survive?

In undiscovered recesses,
where demons, we do conjure,
we allow such excesses:
excesses that we nurture.

The focus and attention
toward a single extinction
deserves some distinction
as a curious affliction.

Hypocrisy or disease?
One life's end is pain to see
the other simply snuffed with ease.
Disease or hypocrisy?

Violence, begot of fear,
comes from nature, prime.
It absolves the eye a tear;
it absolves the heart a crime.