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Kissed In the cold musty dust of October’s Rusty sky where the moon hung in its portraiture In the manner of angels watching, warmed by candle light Lay shacked away from the eyes of men Twenty-four drums fuelled the dance of murder Of a man now fled and listed dead He came unknown to Czinkota to leave and only return In a note which announced he never would And now long gone and half forgotten In a world where the meek wreak tragedy His deeds, which boiled through his veins Fuelled from the fires of jealousy Became unearthed only soon enough To allow his epitaph To waltz free to the drum beats of murder Upon the pages of history While he, the man who Kissed them all Into uneased serenity, made dead by human fallacy Waltzed free, breathing the fires of murder Into the hazes of mystery |
Additional Notes:
This poem concerns Hungarian Serial Killer Bela Kiss. After finding his wife an infidel, he murdered her and her lover, and stuffed them into oil drums. He was later drafted, and reported KIA. When the German army came looking for fuel supplies, they found Kiss' horrible work. 24 drums in all, 23 of them women. Kiss, however, was not truely dead, but changed dog tags with a deceased man, and disappeared forever. You can read more about Bela Kiss in The Encyclopedia of Serial Killers by Michael Newton.
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