The Pond

He stands now surrounded by the mob
His kin slaughtered
He asks if it was worth the price 

​As he stands at the pikes end 
Kind demons whisk him away 
He still feels the leaded blood in their flesh 

All justified 
​He tries to sip from a better time ​
And as his eyes close he grasps a fleeting memory

A pond sits behind the hedges
The still tides bring the beast to ease
he looks to the towering manor
his shadow casts its gaze upon him
his once false look turns to its true shape

His despicable green eyes close
His coarse heart beats a obsolete rhyme
His  white teeth hide from the world
he had never felt this oppressive emotion
Even when he hurt his own brood

Oh, the lives he has taken!
He sees their tormented souls
All congregating in the still waters
He lets out a gastly howl
As his arms flail back

He feels the error of his ways
He sees the body of sin
A vile mass stands in the once calm pond
It extends its gangrenous white arms to him
As it chants his cursed name 

“Mercy!” He cries
With crystal tears streaking to the Earth like meteors 
And it judges
And it waits
Until it’s visage molds from the insufferable abyss

It bared his face
Wearing a brazen look
As it jeered at him
As it mocked him
And at last it makes him open his eyes

To greet the falling of the noose

As the crowd chants his name 

As his grand facade of stature snaps like the souls of the wronged

The rioters sing a no better tune than he

As they all lose their valiant innocence

Their fear

Their hate

Their sins

All residing in the shadow of the manor

At  the edge of the pond.
​

By Brien Wolter