The Condemned

The rope swung slowly in the setting sun
As the condemned man shambled up the stairs
Hands stained with blood like rust, he faced forward,
While the executioner, Death's agent, read the charges.
The crowd stared, wondering, at the beast
Mothers pulled their children close, hatred gleaming in their eyes.

The condemned man took his place upon Life's stage
And felt the rope around his neck.
When the priest had finished his last rites,
He heard the floor drop, and he sank
Hurtling towards Death, a smile on his visage.

What did an eternity of Hell matter,
When he had felt an eternity of joy in a single second?

Author's Note

My second attempt at prose poetry.

Reviews

[Kuandio]

Awesome first line, the image is intense. Overall it seemed a little more like a very, very short story that it did like a poem, but then again, there aren't many rules in poems. Nice line, "wondering at the beast" and also "Life's stage". The last two lines were crazy paradoxical. Good job