dyingflame
04-25-2007, 08:06 AM
I- Judgement
As they stand, he grimly sits:
lines scar the venerable face,
(Fifty years and half a decade had made his wig white.)
Bribes know nothing of him, his job his only delight,
his hammer usually brings silence, or a fight-
II- Innocent Until Proven Guilty
Yet there isn’t fear in this one’s silent gaze
but only soulless cold in his victim’s lines
as if the act of sin was now cradling its pain
and suckling fragile infant innocence, unfazed.
III- Trial, Jury and Sentence
The pure chains of justice cling
to his diabolical elegant flesh,
streams of salt rush round shrinking eyes,
blood blooms on the waxy weary cheeks-
He stands accused of murder, mad and wise,
a skull is already tattooed in his hollowed mind,
his biceps feels the cold teeth of the label flash.
Spitting out the truth of their request:
to hold no lies on their book but bear the cliffs
and hold the crashing waves aloof while he is bound
within the rooms of judgement, painted white,
and while Hercules sleeps his liver is pecked out.
alternative:
Spitting out the truth of their request:
to hold no lies on their book but bear the cliffs
and hold the crashing waves aloof while he is bound
within the rooms of judgement, painted white,
he dreams- but his Hercules still sleeps
while his liver is pecked out.
(which is more clear pls?)
IV- Waiting for Execution
Stripes now, and numbers, are the definition, not the night.
He thinks of old days where naked stumps of trees
huddled round together against cold; burned,
and regrets the cold emotion that soldiers felt, on their knees.
A long sloping road used to stretch out
While victims slept or sang, and the hammer rapped-
Sleep came over, the muscles stretched,
And the lock was banged up, holed-up,
Behind the stretch of electricity zapping
Waiting for that day
when he will reach forever to napping.
As they stand, he grimly sits:
lines scar the venerable face,
(Fifty years and half a decade had made his wig white.)
Bribes know nothing of him, his job his only delight,
his hammer usually brings silence, or a fight-
II- Innocent Until Proven Guilty
Yet there isn’t fear in this one’s silent gaze
but only soulless cold in his victim’s lines
as if the act of sin was now cradling its pain
and suckling fragile infant innocence, unfazed.
III- Trial, Jury and Sentence
The pure chains of justice cling
to his diabolical elegant flesh,
streams of salt rush round shrinking eyes,
blood blooms on the waxy weary cheeks-
He stands accused of murder, mad and wise,
a skull is already tattooed in his hollowed mind,
his biceps feels the cold teeth of the label flash.
Spitting out the truth of their request:
to hold no lies on their book but bear the cliffs
and hold the crashing waves aloof while he is bound
within the rooms of judgement, painted white,
and while Hercules sleeps his liver is pecked out.
alternative:
Spitting out the truth of their request:
to hold no lies on their book but bear the cliffs
and hold the crashing waves aloof while he is bound
within the rooms of judgement, painted white,
he dreams- but his Hercules still sleeps
while his liver is pecked out.
(which is more clear pls?)
IV- Waiting for Execution
Stripes now, and numbers, are the definition, not the night.
He thinks of old days where naked stumps of trees
huddled round together against cold; burned,
and regrets the cold emotion that soldiers felt, on their knees.
A long sloping road used to stretch out
While victims slept or sang, and the hammer rapped-
Sleep came over, the muscles stretched,
And the lock was banged up, holed-up,
Behind the stretch of electricity zapping
Waiting for that day
when he will reach forever to napping.