The Condemned

February 26, 2009
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A cloth heaves and hoes,
Faster and faster,
Eternal darkness come early with a black sack of condemnation,
Last rites
Promising a shepherd that does not come.
No light,
No silver lining as the hairs of the noose
Tickle his freshly-shaved throat,
A sudden chill arriving as Death's fingernails
Gently mingle with the frayed edges of the rope.
A lever falls along with a man,
Legs giving one final kick
As a cold and bony hand
Replaces the noose,
Death and Man departing in unison.

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