February: Mamba

The chopper chased the land,
Dodging disaster by mere feet,
But it was plummeting.

He grabbed Gianna by the hand,
Looked her in the eyes with guarantee:
“Everything will be fine. Trust me.”

A Philly boy became a generation.
Did things few could ever dream,
He never lost his drive,

Never stopped consideration
Of another golden ring.
Wanted six, but he had five.

After several iterations of that story,
Proving himself time and time again, 
He saw the end of the line.

One day he’d hang up his gear in acts of glory,
But even before then
He’d show the crowd one last time.

But a retired assassin won’t see finality.
He’ll die just like an ember
Greeting Grim with smiles cordial, 

Knowing true immortality 
Comes from being remembered.
And in that he is immortal.

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