Poetry

The Hanging

written by: justhatgirl18

The Hanging



He walks to his sentence.
His body aches the sun burns the retinas of his eyes, beads of translucent sweat drench his brow.
He casts a hand upon his face to shield the long forgotten light, once bare through filtered iron bars.
Masked by a sense of pride he walks.
Through the boughs of eager townspeople ready to watch his fate be sealed.
They part, the people part like the sea parting for Moses.
He is no Moses, he is a sinner.
He is a termite in the foundation of society.
A tarnish in the silver framework.
He ascends the stairs, his breath steady.
His feet weighted by his guilt.
Soft murmurs fall like light feathers upon his ears.
He walks towards the rope, the drum roll sets, and takes a steady pace with that of his own beating heart.
The whispers turn into clamor, the people shout.
He casts one last glance to the spectators; not a friend amongst them.
The drum roll at it's peak pierces his numbed senses, awakening his fear.
He stops, and stands before a looped rope that mockingly sways back and forth in a gentle breeze.
It sways in the air, as his life sways before him.
A man. The devil? No a man cloaked in black approaches and ties a stiff rope, hardened by the sea air, around his neck.
He wants to scream, to plead:
"No I must not die, not like this, not now, God has yet forgiven me "
But his tongue lays restless behind closed lips, searching for the words; searching for hope, but unable to find strength in either.
He is paralyzed he cannot move, nor speak.
Only think and feel.
The drum roll ceases, the people cheer and curse.
He takes his last breath, and is thrust into uncanny darkness.
The crowd grows quiet.
He is still, and hangs.
His body twitches, last remnants of his life agonizingly slip away.
And he hangs, he hangs.




shannon b.