LAST DAYS
The days were misery
the nights were horrors
the tortures, the screams, the blood
At last the day is here
I walk among the people
Sneers and anger are on their faces
I think they are glad it is me, not them
All eyes are on me
the humiliation will not last
the wood steps are only seven - mercifully short
I am led, no pulled, up the stairs
my hands tied together in front of me
Tall he stands with a hood, making me guess his identity
axe across his chest, held in his folded arms
A priest steps forward and I wave him aside
what has his Master done for me?
The block waits before me
it has been used many times before
and smells of rotten blood in the sun
My hands are untied
and pulled behind my back
I kneel before my fate
and place my head to one side
the side I most comfortably sleep on,
and where the cuts have been made in the wood
Gratefully I take one more breath
At last this hell is over
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.