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THE CONDEMNED MAN
I see the condemned man
being led
to the noose
by the angry crowd
I know he’s about
to be hung
and I sit and wait
and watch
and wait
for the hanging to take place
I look beyond the noose
beyond the mob
to see a little bird
singing
on a tree branch
I try to listen to the bird song
but
can not make out a note
It all goes on
The crowd continues to roar
as the executioner
walks up to the plank
He takes his place
I’m certain he’s done this before
but everyone
in the crowd
looks like him
wearing a mask
hiding the shame
of human indignity
I watch the condemned man
as his head
is placed in the noose
There’s nary an emotion
as I look beyond
trying to see the bird
Finally is the moment
The executioner gives
a sign of the cross
and prepares
to pull the lever
catapulting the Condemned man
to death
My heart races furiously
as I listen
to the crowd
chanting
its evil death chant
I remain calm with part of me
delighting
in inevitable death
of the Condemned Man
I quickly revert my glances
toward the singing bird
who continues
warbling a song
though I can’t hear
The Condemned Man just
stares out
into the crowd
at all his executioners
The moment comes
and everyone
hushes one another
and soon the bottom drops
on the Condemned Man
and he sinks
the life
slowly oozing
out of him
My heart stops until
he’s dead
then I look back out
at the singing bird
in the tree
beyond the madness
And at last
at long last
I can hear him
Singing his song
I do not eagerate when I tell
I do not eagerate when I tell you, quite candidly, that this is one of the finest death poems I have ever read. To me, it is right up there with Wilde's Ballad Of Reading Gaol and Housman's "Oh Who Is That Young Sinner?" Although any death poem must, of definition, be morbid, you handle that aspect with skill and restraint; and the typography of the poem somehow, in my opinion, is a meaphor of the executed man's descent to the end of te rope. You should be very proud of the accomplishment in this poem.
Starward
thank you for your kind
thank you for your kind words.
Fabled
A poem that proves reincarnation to be true
As far as I am concerned enough to comment
This is like a sonnet of the wicked wilderness
Where the trickery trails of gaunt gallows grin
Slaves and prisoners are sent off in a whim
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitutes
but what did I do in my last
but what did I do in my last life to come back as this in this life?
Law of karma
The neverending nerve
Of creating conception of
Calculated questions
Speechless ghosts reason
We must respect death
And all that it brings forth
I am no psychic
And so I cannot answer
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitutes
They say Karma is a bitch but
They say Karma is a bitch but I knew better than to marry her.