Anathema

All the corpses lay juxtaposed
The color red, thoroughly imposed
An endless spree of hate and rage
In life, death comes, and will engage
He is a chaotic apparition
Whence he came, perhaps perdition?
Tall and strong, no hint of fun
Strength means nothing when you have a gun
Once alive, but now they're not
Malevolence, his only thought
Of course myths grow with helping hands
This creature is no more than man
For when minds run, they're most absurd
Fictitious praise that he deserves