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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1060170
A man faces the dread of his execution.
The eyes of the dead are dark,
Their bodies bear death's mark.
Passed into the hand of cold,
A commodity bought and sold
In life.

A group of twelve priced mine-
It wasn't worth a dime-
Guilty was the word they said,
Cast aside, I will be dead

I don't regret my act,
Because the simple fact
Is the life I wiped from earth,
To me, was not worth
A cent.

And yet, something tugs my heart.
Something with which I regret to part.
Only when I can see death's sneer
Do I begin to feel my fear
To die.

The gallows are to be my fate,
On the morrow, which I await,
The rope shall hang about my neck-
Then the drop, to start my trek
To death.

Two ends await me there,
watching as I sway in midair.
One, my face growing slowly blue,
the other, the better of the two,
A snap.

Ah! These first steps I dread,
My heart as heavy as lead.
I wish some guide to show
Where I'm supposed to go
At my end.

But no guide is here
To help me leave this life so dear;
I am left to walk alone
And so, I feel I must atone
To You.

I'm told that you're eternally great,
And I hope it's not to late
To open up a place
For you to lie your grace
In my heart.

I ask you to take my dread
So that I may lie upon this bed
And sleep-without a care-
And please, accept this prayer
From me.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the lord my soul to keep.
And- if on the gallows I should wake,
I pray the lord my neck to break,
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