![]() Hangmans NooseA Poem by Cassidy Mask![]() This is the most recent of my bedtime stories for ciara :P![]() Hangman’s Noose Hangs by The side of the road Swinging slowly A constant reminder A constant threat
Once a month A cart pulls up Frail bodies Hollowed cheeks Grimy skin Hands tied
In the cool Month of January A crowd gathers Watching As the first man Is led forward The others forming A line Behind him Almost too weak To stand
As they shuffle Forwards Their feet sound out A slow And steady thump The beating Like a drum Sounding the way To execution
The first man Steps up Bag put over His head Noose Tightened Around neck
The trapdoor Under his feet Falls away He hangs
A ripple Passes through The crowd A mixture Of shock Disgust And a sick Perverse Sort of Enjoyment
His body Is taken away And once again The prisoners Shuffle forwards The next man Stumbling Toward Death Towards The end
Same procedure Floor falls Man hangs
There is less Shock this Time Among The crowd
And it lessens Further As the line Shortens The pile of Bodies Growing Until the last Prisoner Walks forward The last Man
Or rather Boy
The thin figure Can be no more Than eight Years old And this time The ripple Asks what Crime Such a child Committed
As he steps up His head is Held high His scared eyes Dark against The proud Paleness of his Fair skin
The bag goes Over his head The noose Around his neck And he waits Time Stretching Torturously The Seconds Lengthening As He Holds His Breath
The floor falls The small body Swings slowly Limp Empty
The crowd Disperses As the dead boy Is added to The pile Just another Body Any other Criminal
But not to The hunched Figure of a Women Still standing By the Roadside Body shaking With grief As she watches The body of Her son Taken away In the same Cart as he Arrived in
She stands For a while Unable to move Watching The slowly Swinging Rope Of the
Hangman’s Noose
© 2008 Cassidy Mask |
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1 Review Added on September 3, 2008 Last Updated on September 13, 2008 Author![]() Cassidy MaskSingaporeAboutI'm at art college in Singapore. "...I never heard them laugh. They had, Instead, this tic of scratching quotes in air - like frightened mimes inside their box of style, that first class carriag.. more..Writing
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