A rope swings gently in the wind
hanging from an elevated stage
an audience mills below the steps

From a gleaming metal bared window
a young women in plain clothes watches
she sits proper and straight before her fate

They come at dawn clacking with her chains
she holds her head high down the hall
as tears stream down her petite face

The steps are high as they hoist her up
ringing the rope around her fragile neck
the roughness is a promise of darkness

In the crowd she sees her children mourning
Not yet dead she smile at them sadly
and mouths “I’ll always love you”

There is an ominous thump from below
and she struggles in the air hands grasping
too light for the rope to snap her neck

Hours and hours later the crowd gone
she breathes her last breath alone
hanging for something she didn’t do

side by side,
smothered in rhyme
covered in agonizing crimes

they stand and stare,
but darling beware

for they are not the angels you sought to find,
but the demons that caused our crimes

He sits on his chair of unearned power
Time caused his temper to spoil and grow sour;
Faulting those lower in the hierarchy,
He rests, contented in his monarchy;

He wreaks havoc on anyone with dreams;
Though his entity divides at the seams
King of his castle, he sits unconcerned
Playing with fire, about to be burned

He has not learned: what goes up must come down
Breathing in water, and soon he will drown
He pushes others down to lift him up
He is bitter and decaying closeup

Written and read in a voice of deadpan:
The crimes of a diabolical man