Author's Note-
Hey readers! So this is a poem I wrote for my schools Poetry Slam competition this semester, and I thought you would all enjoy. Feel free to review, I always love hearing from you guys. As always, I don't own Batman, I just own the words/situation I strung together. Enjoy!
Cries.
A doctor hears the cries of a newly birthed child intermingled with the soft grunts of a mother fresh from labor. The father, a doctor himself, grips the mother's hands tightly in his own, and stares into the face of his child.
Blood.
This boy now eight years old, stares into the clasped hands of his parents. The pool of blood beneath their bodies grows so wide, that his shoes are slick with it.
Sobs.
He sobs into the suit jacket of his white haired butler, his only companion. The funeral marked the finality of his parent's death.
Lost.
Bruce is lost. He's lost in the swirling confusion of his mind. Bruce is no longer Bruce, he hasn't been Bruce since he was eight years old.
Darkness.
His life becomes a life riddled with pain, choked by darkness, with shaking shoulders wracked by sobs of despair.
Redemption.
Bruce finds redemption in a black sculpted cowl and begins to spend his life yearning for justice in back alleyways and closely crowded apartments filled with the desperate screams of the destitute and hopeless.
Laugh.
A maniacal laugh cloaked in purple and green masks a heart of chaos. His coming marks the birth of a new age of criminal, one no longer caged by motivations, free to run rampant on Gotham's streets.
Together.
The Dark Knight finds joy in trying to stop the Clown Prince of Crime from turning him into what he destroys. Surprisingly, through this game, both of their scars begin to heal, and they begin to make their way through the darkness, together.
Time.
The Dark Knight and his companion fight each other with losing vigor, for time is not on either of their sides, and each acknowledge that their life is growing short.
Beg.
Batman, now an old man, begs his smiling friend to kill once more. His friend gives him a blank stare, and reminds him of a promise he made long ago, that he, The Batman, was too fun to kill. He begs again, gripping his nemesis's shoulders, pleading with all the strength he has left.
Tears.
The Dark Knight hears the slice of the knife through his armor and feels the blade in his lungs. Black eyes peer into his own without malice, filling with tears.
Thank You.
Batman, near death, stares into the painted and tear streaked face of the Joker, and smiles despite his agony. He whispers a soft, "Thank You" and silently expresses his love for his companion, He could not think of a better way to die then by the hand of his equal, his friend.
End.
The Joker, distraught by this murder, slits his throat with the same knife that took away his friend's life. Their blood mingles together, both dark shades of red. For the end of The Batman could not come without the end of the Joker, and only this could come when they were both finished playing their game.