Loony on the loose

It was not so much the stink that made them run away,
But rather the grave calm written on his face, as plain as day.
This face, though calm bore no grace,
It was neither right nor bright,
It triggered fear in many a mans' hearts,
A fear fierce and firm.
"No man could be this calm," they whispered, "and not be about to cause great harm."

The dread in their eyes triggered the madness in his,
Those once walking scurried for their lives,
And like a magician revealing a bouquet of flowers from his sleeve,
The mad man revealed a machete that shone from the sun's light.
The air previously fresh and full of mirth,
Now stank with fear and a grisly blood bath.

Now,
This mad man, dressed in rags, drenched in blood,
Let out a hollow cry so chilling that the dead people stirred in their deep sleep.
The madness in his eyes was lost,
The strength in his arm,  numb. 
He sat down on the red street to weep,
Barely aware of the crowd staring from the street side confused.

Police sirens shook him from his self pity,
While he stood, the crowd backed away,
And he saw them, for the first time, not as people who had what he lacked,
But as human beings with their varying problems that troubled.
"What have I done?" He asked himself.
He dropped his weapon,
Suddenly panicking, whispering maddeningly.
Stumbling drunkeningly towards moving traffic,
He cried his apologies.

As swiftly as he had put the innocent to sleep,
This man met his fate the same way,
Carrying with him guilt heavier than his penury.