No tears fell, no fears swell, as the condemned took the
stage.
The ax rapidly came down, with the silence of a falling
feather;
A shrill chill blew through the air, not brought on by the
weather.
Blood fell upon the snow, staining the sheet like ink on a
page;
Pointless hope ended, as abruptly, as the final line of a
bard`s verse
(The rhythm of life, almost perfect, the only mar is: it’s
by far too terse).
No audience, at this point, only the executioner and ax truly care.
A dream, in the consummation of its crucifixion, leaves a nightmare.
Reality – a jest, or a test?
Life – a lucid dream, a whimsical fantasy,
(Or a moment of apparent sensation and brevity)?
Humanity – ingests and infests.
Eternity – some sort of divine idea of levity?
Death – living answers were found, like metaphors clearly
explained…
Death – morbid mysteries so profound, those implications –
restrained…
Death – The Reality of Life, which is consuming Humanity for
all Eternity…
Death – the executioner placed the ax down and laughed at
the absurdity.
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