The Thief

Part 1: Conception

His eyes lit up, knowing plan, learning this devious choice,
It became his obsession, this man of outspoken voice.
He would take what was his, without fear of being found,
Nobody would know it was him, There and back, no sound.

Ticking in his mind, machines of evil masterwork,
Dark terrible things, within subconscious, they lurk.
An evil man, darkened by years of jealous rage,
Failed many times before, his plan now comes of age.

Years gone by, he failed over and over to win the prize,
Covered up his losses, painted a winding story of lies.
Defied those who aided him, to conjure this plan,
Showed many a fiction spun, this dark, twisted man.

How would he begin? The pieces were in place,
His strategy, in his mind, seemed a thing of grace.
Darkened the walls of his home, blueprints and plans,
Working through, no haste, he can do it, he knows he can.

Almost ready now, he had to get things in place,
Start at the beginning, this was a strategy, not a race,
He would count and count, everything is accounted for,
He had enough, check and double check, no need for more.

The time had come, the moment for action, he knew,
Hoisting a bag over his shoulder, the anticipation grew.
Making his way towards the door, his heartbeat increased,
He can't stop now, or he might as well be deceased.

Part 2: Committal

He shuts the door,
Heart already pounding,
The pressure seemed more,
Alarms already sounding.

Calmly walking to his car,
He looked over his shoulder,
His victory, in mind, his star,
He'd bcome so much bolder.

Driving towards the target,
He knew what he had to do,
Break in, take it, mark it,
Not long until he was through.

Out of the car, hiding in shadows,
He'd creep up to the window,
How he got in, only he knows,
Not a break or shard to show.

Find it, it's definitely here,
His prize, of value untold,
unguarded, delicate and dear,
The piece itself, markedly old.

Taken from it's pedastel,
He breaks for the door,
He is definitely going to hell,
But, he didn't care anymore.

Out of the house, alarms ring,
Treasure dumped in back seat,
Screech of tyre, hear rubber sing,
Tonight was not one of defeat.

Back to his home now,
Trophy under his arm,
Destroy it now,
Before it does more harm.

Rasing his hammer,
Closed eyes as he swings,
In the noisy clamour,
Shards into his foot stings.

Minutes later, pain subsides,
Glass removed, disposed,
Pain didn't matter, besides,
He'd gone what he proposed.

Part 3: Guilt

Suddenly a thought appeared in his mind.
A pain in his gut followed the pain from his foot,
"Should I have done that? If they come, will they find?"
It wrenched his insides, Indescribably put.

He thought about the house, the people inside,
How he'd entered, under the break of the night,
They slept soundly, unknowing of horrors of sun's tide,
They'd come down, their prized posession, not in sight.

Should he have forced hammer through glass?
Was there a different way, one that was legal?
"No" he thought, they are paying for their class,
For someone so uptight, acting so regal.

What would he do when the police came around?
He was too panicked to rid the room of the evidence,
He sat in darkness, pondering this, not a sound,
Wrap it in a sheet, throw it over the fence.

"Was that far enough?" Looking out the window, he thought,
Alarms still ringing, piercing his tainted skull,
They'll wake up, they'll all be distraught,
He began to laugh, his nerves topped him full.

He will cover it up, they will never know it was him,
One of the main suspects, they knew of his interest,
Hidden in the undergrowth, behind the fence it is dim,
One strangth in his plan, no witness to attest.

Part 4: Denial

They're here, knocking at his door, suspicions,
He has an involvement, he has to face up,
It had beome a long term war of atrition,
Their precious heirloom, the glass cup.

He would deny all knowing, of course he would,
They had nothing on him, if they ignored the fence,
Beyond it's dull shade, disprove innocence, it could,
He wasn't the best at lying, becoming tense.

Insist it must have been someody other than he,
Demand for himself, the right of representation,
Request the assistance of a lawyer or three,
He swears down, the plan was not his creation.

Walking with a slight limp, weakness not ignored,
Upon questioning, he would suggest a fall,
His desire to avoid detection, his story pored,
They were close to the truth, beyond it all.

Still he lied onwards, subbornness showing the way,
A silver tongue, darting around the room at will,
He could defend himself, throughout their stay,
They pressed and pressed, as if he were able to kill.

Never giving up, he lasted until they left,
Breathing a sigh of relief as they made depart,
Not looking back, content he commited no theft,
Still, an aching pain grew, based within heart.

Part 5: Admittance

The day arrived, the court beckoned, plead innocence,
This man lied to all of his lack of decadence.
Holding on to a slim glimmer of an untruth,
The time had come to come clean, however uncouth.

Prosecution beckons him to the dock, proud stance,
Would he lie once more, leading all a merry dance?
Perhaps his time was up, his plot had unfurled,
Open up, be free, admit to all and the world.

Maybe his sentence was reduced, sudden change of heart,
Pain now subsiding, monster of guilt has played it's part.
He was only human, seing the daughters face cry tear,
Revealing all, his plan, his plot, for all to hear.

For the longest time he had waited, words unending,
His story unfolding to the court, no self-defending.
He would get off lighly it seemed, theft but minor,
More tears fell, hitting the floor, beyond all timer.

Thief looked in her eyes, saw the pain he had caused,
Bowed head toward hands, the Jury had paused.
It was clear now, what he had done was pointless,
To steal this heirloom, causing untold distress.

Sentencing to follow, Jury sent to their quarter,
Not long for their decision, good news for the daughter.
Prison awaited, Judge quick with his sentence,
A mere half hour, spent the people with high pretence.

Now clasped with cuffs, He was escorted to the cell,
His life over now, to become a new living hell.
Pushing through the crowds, guards protected the convicted,
His room awaited, a few years, freedom justly restricted.

These five poems are now copyrighted by me, so any misuse of them will result in legal action.