- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The nightmare
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Every night at slumber’s call I hear the latch then I fall
But not before I see afar riding as a ghostly mar to innocence
The blinded up on a great roan’s back as justice weighs the counter sack
And down I plummet with the sharpest cry to go unheard by a deafened eye
None will take the meaning here as one by one we all can swear that truth be done
But in what name comes the prize of sweet revenge made civilized by hemp from so far away that one should feel the pleasure sway as life sings it’s last few notes in hastened clicks from heel to toe.
With sweat of brow to chill my heart I wake each night with awful start to familiar voices
calling out their hallowed plea. My covered countenance stares hard to see who rides with such discard to all who gather waiting my demise. The hangman dare not show his face but to his back my daggers race that he may know the innocence of hell. When next I see the blinded one now made known to everyone the hangman turns and one by one I die alone as each of them is me.
