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The Executioners' Eyes

Writer's picture: Darkling ThrushesDarkling Thrushes

The Executioners' eyes, I would guess,

Said, 'I cannot bear to say good-bye!'

Then, I was locked in an iron maiden,

Until my ribs cracked, neck snapped.


At a busy workbench, a jar of spit,

And a few loose records kept messily.

Pliers and tongs and a repair-kit,

In case a torture-device was broken.


I wanted to look him once in the eyes,

As he crammed me in but fainted-fear,

His gaze was averted, the last I saw,

Was a baggy black hood and well-fed gut.


__________

Copyright 2023 Jeffrey Merk

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