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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1248660
Death watches a man about to be executed.
Eminently

He sits alone in a darkened cell -
I can read his despair in his lowered head -
Captive of a pit of Hell
He knows his existence soon will end.

He carves his epitaph on the wall
As I stare in hidden glee -
Knowing that soon the platform shall fall -
Still he has not noticed me.

His head in hands, crying still,
I have no heart, so it cannot feel
He sits upon the windowsill -
And I wait for my evening meal -

The clock ticks down
Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock
And he waits for the painful crown
That the judges hath wrought.

I lurk in the shadowed corner
With his sorrow I feel such joy.
Waiting for the shrill cry of the mourner -
It’s so hard for me to be coy.

He lowered his head -
A last half-hearted plea -
Repeating what the Beatles said:
“They’re gonna crucify me.”

The sun to rise any moment now,
I shift my stance outside the door
Watching as he wonders how
What he did shook society to the core.

I feel no pity, no remorse -
As he picks up a picture from the floor -
The guard comes and without force
He walks out through the door -

They place him up against a wall -
The group of men take aim -
He closes his eyes and with a call -
A burst of smoke and flame -

He slowly slips into my embrace -
The picture flutters from his hand -
A teenage girl with a pretty face -
And, heartless, I carry him to my lands.
© Copyright 2007 H. Ewing (historygirl at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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