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The Executioner
Two vacant eyes watch
so much already had been
witnessed.
A face perhaps impassive,
or twisted in pain cannot
be told from behind the
mask.
Perhaps to protect his
identity from himself
or those that watch.
One might ask, what does
he see when the day is done
and looks upon his mirrors
reflection?
Eyes run deep, sympathy
can no longer be afforded,
perhaps once it was there,
withered away day by day.
Now he stands, stoic
and waits again for the
signal to deliver another
death.
One might wonder
what in his mind lays,
is he the callous villain
with no mercy? Or, yet
another victim?
Trapped in his own way
not to die one single
painless death, but to
die slowly time by time
until the end of his days.
4:53 PM - 1/6/2007 -
Untitled Comment
Yet another cool poem rolls forth.
I can identify very much with this one.
One can only wonder, what will come next?
Thanks again.
DarthTsynn - 6:16 PM - 1/6/2007
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