Ripple

Sometimes captured in tame swirls    
of dew-frosted morning breezes,    
I don't breathe.    
     
At a gamble of a step the water stops,      
drops, and rolls, away from my footprint;    
crafting a thousand ringed shadows of disorder.    
Gnarled skeletons of trees flinch backwards with a gasp  
of rustled shock, cowering away into the unseen.    
Someone I used to recognize launches a flare      
for help in-between the first thought    
and the second; I dismiss them.    
Smoke lingers as an unwanted ghost.    
     
I radiate destruction, involuntarily drawing      
out my dagger with every movement,      
mutilating peace.    
     
The click of a pistol flicked off safety    
echoes in the cavernous vacuum of my mind,    
thoughts urging forward at the speed of light.    
Heart beats race as rabbits, shot down one by one.    
A statue consumed by caution.    
     
Often when the first bruising of light    
darkens the sky, I don't breathe.      
I will cause no ripples.