Feet as heavy as the blacksmith's anvil,
I walk closer to Death - it's time to kill.
The gallows is the stage and the spotlight -
The noose that awaits, smirking at my plight.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
Like a clock's call, calling the hour,
My weighted feet filled with power.
The wood sinks under my strength.
I only have one last breath.
SHOUTS, SCREAMS, SHRIEKS!
The rope tightens around my neck,
Realising what happens next,
I picture velvet stroking my skin
As I die, the last of my kin.
CRACK, SNAP! Hang.
No time to react or thrash about,
Black comes quickly. I'm soon out.
Rope rubbing my skin painfully
Whilst Death swoops in gracefully.
YOU ARE READING
Landscape
PoetryYou only hinder yourself by concealing those feelings under a concrete mask. But remember, concrete cracks and I see your unmarred skin that's not tasted the flavour of living. You hide like a guilty thief. You steal away the experience so open y...
