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There was a time when justice was served quickly and without remorse.
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No one knows who the executioner is.
But his ax is known to all.
Forged in the fires of hell,
Sharper than the talons of a hawk,
More powerful than Arthur's Excalibur,
It has ended many a life.
No one knows who the executioner is.
But when he steps up on the platform,
Where the unjust lose their heads,
Women run home
And men shudder in fear.
No one knows who the executioner is.
But those who are,
Who are to be executed
Know their death will be sudden.
His huge strong arms and powerful back
Help to bring the ax down quickly.
No one knows who the executioner is.
But they sense a smile
Lurks under his hood
As his ax cuts through the spine
and severs a head.
No one knows who the executioner is.
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| Reviewed by Ch'erie de Perrot |
7/2/2006 |
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A dark write indeed, but the irony of it all is that, the Headsman was just a mercanry paid to carry out a job, who cared nothing for human life. Depending on how much you paid him as was the custom, depended on how quickly or efficiently he ended your life.
Read of Mary Queen of Scots, three blows, to do the job, they say the headsman lost his nerve, or did she fail to pay him a decent amount? We will never know.
What's the difference between the executioner of old, and the one's of today who push the button, pull the lever? NONE, they all love a dollar.
Very interesting write!
Ch'erie |
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| Reviewed by Silvia Hartmann |
3/19/2006 |
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Very cool - and you know, I've really had a "thing" with The Executioner as an archtype, a lost tarot card, if you will. You captured that essence really well here.
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