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The Execution

 

The jingles of the keys could be heard into his cell,
A voice seem to whisper through him,
JUST KEEP HOLDING ON,
Even his soul seem to know the fact of his innocence,

He clapped his hands together,
Wondering if prays were heard through these thick walls,
Pictures, images flashed in his eyes,
Questions of who really did it,
Kept ringing in his mind,
The voices and heavy footsteps echoes through the corridors,
He finished his glass of milk and stood,
The officers opened his cell,

He brushed his hair back with his hand and stood tall,
They walked him to the death room,
Laid in bed and strapped all around,
An officer walked up to him,

‘Do you have a last statement?” he asked,
With no words, or fear in his mind

He whispered, ‘No Sir!

 

 

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