Portrait of a Hanging
With the opening of my fortress cell,
solemn-faced men come locust invading in
Their mouths smile not, and eyes neither grin
as ceremonial words pursed lips expel
A deer thought escapes ... my life nears its end!
And I feel the cold October Halloween Day wind
blast unrelenting upon my pale black skin,
as I’m led to the high place of slaughtering
So afraid am I to face this final reckoning
Then quickly rushing along beside me
comes a beard dripping drunken memory —
my faithful, forgetful friend
And I beg him to pirate me away
from this awful nightmarish place
He takes a pleasure soaked finger,
presses it against my dry lips,
and my chaotic world suddenly become silent, calming me
Then remember I with sober physician clarity,
how came this horrible fate thrust so surgically
into my fear stricken heart
I’m dissected to the soul, pierced with
better possibilities that did not unfold
And the ravenous pain which drove me
to my impending demise takes hold
So hungry was I, as I secreted the baker’s abode,
taking the cursed crusted thing that compelled me so
And in my rushed exit carelessness, I left open the window,
allowing in Death’s bone chilling cold
It searched out the baker’s sickly wife:
for she had no warm shawl upon her head
Tragically while sleeping, she unwittingly uncovered her bed
And the night reaper’s icy kiss left her dead
How came my avenging captors upon me so quicky,
I had often asked myself,
as I brooded in my iron-walled safe refuge keep?
The mystery revealed to me,
was explained in utter simplicity
The freshly baked dough left a hot trailing scent
of butter and cinnamon
This wafting, rye accusing finger hounded me,
it howled at me ... and my accidental sin caught up to me
I pleaded for mercy from the magistrate, to no avail
My poor protestations stilled by a sentencing gavel pound
Death by hanging was the judge’s obsidian decree,
as agreed the abiding ivory jury
So here these trembling, shuffling steps
of my terrified feet,
marches unwillingly closer to my final destination
Upon each raised wooden rung I go,
prodded roughly for I move slow
Desperate am I to hold onto life to the very last
As my petrified body reaches the top,
I see them testing the opening and shutting
of the bottom that will drop out
And I silently cry to God: I don’t want to die!
I ask the Lord to forgive my deep scarlet sin;
my ignorant, widow bruising transgression
I sorrowfully confess I regret
the robbing of a life that was not mine to take
But with chains, my thievish hands tied behind my back are bound,
and fetters wrapped tightly around my larcenous feet,
I now accept at last the dark uncertainty awaiting me
For the executioner places a thick rope boa
against my neck, and it constricts its twined body
ever so slightly
With deadened curiosity, I watch the gathering
of the murmuring crowd, and my captive eyes lash out at them
Angrily blink questioning them: what was the admission price
they had to pay to see someone’s life taken away?
Some shout, some wag their finger about
Some faint, some laugh and caress a half-dressed bottle as they drank
While some children cry, and some frolic about
under the looming darkening sky
And I notice a small child looking on just as curious as I
He reminds me of me, in my youthful days gone by
In that moment, I pray that his watchful parent
shield his eyes,
so that he carries not forever the image in his mind
of seeing a human being die
As a coarse cloth is draped over my head ...
and the darkness descends prematurely,
my anxiety and dread is transformed instead —
I feel tranquility leading me to death’s edge peacefully,
as I inhale long my last taste of air
With the dropping of my body weight
and the snapping of my neck,
my closed eyes see with fleeting awe,
a spirit rainbow bird of paradise fly slowly upward away
And this lifeless figure swings below,
as an unknown artist
paints a beautiful portrait of a hanging
Colorful strokes of celestial forgiveness
and resin hidden redemption
A writ of clemency given by a higher Judge
This heavenly pardon is mixed into the paint,
unbeknownst to the obscure artist —
whose tear-stained portrait will one day make him famous
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment