The Executioner Poem

More about The Executioner Poem

The morning sun rose with a crimson hue,
As the townsfolk gathered, their hearts askew,
To witness a sight that made them shiver,
For today was the day of the dreaded Executioner.
He stood tall with a stoic air,
His face obscured by a mask of despair,
Clad in black from head to toe,
A symbol of terror wherever he'd go.
His blade, sharp and gleaming bright,
Reflecting the harshness of morning light,
A tool of death, a weapon so cruel,
Used to enforce the law, as an executioner's tool.
He walked with purpose, a somber pace,
No expression on his obscured face,
With every step, the crowd drew near,
Eyes filled with dread, hearts filled with fear.
The convicted stood, their fate sealed,
Awaiting their doom, their final yield,
For crimes committed, justice demanded,
The Executioner's hand steady and firm, not remanded.
One by one, they faced their fate,
As the Executioner swung, their lives abate,
The crowd gasped, as heads rolled down,
In the name of justice, a macabre crown.
But as the day wore on, a question arose,
Who was this man, this bringer of woes?
Was he a monster, devoid of all emotion?
Or just a pawn, fulfilling his duty with devotion?
As the sun set, and the day was done,
The Executioner's task finally won,
He disappeared into the shadows again,
Leaving behind a trail of fear and pain.
For he was a man, with a heavy burden to bear,
A life of solitude, an endless affair,
A servant of justice, a role so dire,
Condemned to wield the executioner's fire.
So, as the town slept, haunted by the day,
The Executioner walked on his solitary way,
A figure of mystery, an enigma profound,
The keeper of justice, forever renowned.