Measuring the weight
The hangman shakes the hand of the convicted,
measuring his weight.
The priest who has no stomach for these things
holds tightly to the shaking holy Bible in his hands.
Last night the murderer confessed his sins;
confessed to him.
There was not one he hadn’t heard
so many times before,
from the judge who summarized the trial
or the members of the jury,
delivering the guilty verdict
with such pride.
The priest has heard it all before and lost
his faith in God and justice many deaths before.
So tired of the solace that he sought,
when he was young;
so tired of these rituals of retribution
and the hangman’s work,
when all is said and done,
the holy Bible closed -
till next time calls for bitter comfort
and sweet vengeance.
There will be nothing there;
no explanations or redemption.
The empty pages whisper,
‘Man is the cruelest animal
and works God’s bloody acres;
that is all.’