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By Brian Draughn
Contributing Writer
Published: May 04, 2011


Forgotten words and history

Scott Clark/Flickr Creative Commons

my tormented past is news to me.

Told to me b’tween metal bars

Broken bones and stolen cars.


The world spins beneath my feet

my past and I are forced to meet

I circle the wagons, make defense

My life, their hands, they’re on the fence.


I step to the stand, the jury full

decision quick; a hood of wool.

Whisked away by cover of night

the gallows cold; The Night tonight.


Reveal my face; they might as well

the sight of me makes red blood chill.

My death for violence I’ve yet to know

many prayers of my death, wishing slow.


The rope hangs heavy around my neck

my feet find solace on wooden deck.

The clock strikes twelve, the time true

tainted fall, my payment due.