Disclaimer: I don't own any Legends of Tomorrow/Flash/DC characters. Or their shows. Or what happens to them...Curse you DC writers.

Author's Note: So, I'm pretty new to writing poetry as a form of fanfiction, and I know it's not very popular, but if done right, it can be a beautiful thing. So, bare with me on this, and please let me know what you think in the comments!

Enjoy!


Cold.

They called him cold, a captain of it at that.

Cold.

Was his life's description, metaphorically his 'hat'.

Cold.

That was his father as he abused his wife and son.

Cold.

His father's daughter heard her brother, but failed to run.

Cold.

That was his childhood, but he kept his sister alive.

Cold.

Was the thing that he became, the place where he could thrive.

Cold.

As he learned the hard way, what it was to be called weak.

Cold.

As he learned to punch and claw all those to call him meek.

Cold.

When he found his talent of taking in his need.

Cold.

As this talent grew, and his father then took heed.

Cold.

As he broke and entered, and swiped with careful ease.

Cold.

As he took his sister, leaving father on his knees.

Cold.

When his name became known, related to nothing good.

Cold.

That he took pleasure in the bad more than he should.

Cold.

Was his demeanor when he laid eyes on the gun.

Cold.

Was the ray it emitted, and oh, cold was it's fun.

Cold.

When the streak of scarlet came, rushing for him to stop

Cold.

As he smiled and won the night, as he came out on top.

Cold.

When he killed his father, after all the man's wrong crimes.

Cold.

When he spited his whole team all those uncountable times.

Cold.

Was his voice as he said the name he'd earned.

Cold.

As, to his dismay, his thoughts began to churn.

Cold.

When he knocks out his friend, and takes hold of the drive.

Cold.

Are his last words, knowing that his team's alive

Cold.

The word that was his life, though never his intent.

Cold.

Is the thing he's not, though, when his final breath is spent.