Tic Toc Tic Toc

Tic Toc Tic Toc

Life is lived by the clock

“Hold your head up high!”

“For every man is born to die”

He said, with a smirking sigh

The perspiring beady eyed Chaplain

Was standing beside the tired old Captain

He smiled and said I had nothing to fear

Though my time for execution was drawing near

“Son be a man, don’t put up a fight”

But to me that just didn’t sound right

No dignity could I seem to find

Did that mean I was going out of my mind?

It’s Mother Nature’s instinctive drive

That we should always struggle to survive

Yet upon deeper introspection

I couldn’t relate manhood to lethal injection

“Son, be a man,” the Chaplain said again

“An eye for an eye,” I must understand

Besides, today from my cell to the chamber

Momentarily, I would be in no danger

Since the courts wouldn’t give me a reversal

I’ve found myself part of an execution rehearsal

For a few minutes I’ll be a star tonight

As my handlers practice to get it right

Every thing must be run with precision

Unless the Governor makes a last minute decision

I’ll know when the clock reaches nine

Whether the red phone rings in time

To grant me a stay

And put my execution off for another day

Surrounded by ten guards and in chains

We practice until almost no time remains

I look at the clock, it’s almost nine

Time stands still as I pray I find

The red phone ringing one last time

You can feel the tension in the air

Some of the guards actually care

I can see tears in their eyes

As my impending death they realize

Will be at their hands

One of them ask me to understand

“I’ve got kids to feed!” he sobs

“Nothing personal, it’s my job.”

But some of the guards see this as thrilling

Participating in a sociopathic serial killing

Anywhere else their sadistic nature is a crime

Where they would end up doing time

“Five minutes to nine!” the Chaplain gleefully shouted

“Burning hell for sinners I’ve never doubted”

“Just confess your guilt to me”

“My connection with God will set you free”

I want to slap the Chaplain but I’m restrained

His driveling voice is driving me insane

Is the phone ever going to ring?

This cold needle in my arm is starting to sting!

After the Chaplain’s last rites are said

Doc is the fellow who’ll pronounce me dead

Who squeezes my shoulder while looking at the clock

Tic Toc Tic Toc

Life is lived by the clock

Authors Note: This is a possible perspective from one on death row,

who may or may not be guilty of the crime he's there for.

 

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world

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