The sounds resounds
around
around
Yet in her head,
she hears no sound.
Leather soled shoes
On concrete ground
Approach the cell
Where she is found.
Uniformed suit
With frock and gown
Invade the space
Where she is bound
Adjoining door opens
A rope is seen
Swaying gently
From a beam
Fat pig priest
Sanctimonious smile
Stands and stares
Then prays for a while
Hangman stands
So proud and good
Placed on her head
A linen hood
Darkness hides
Her tear filled eyes
Hands behind
Her back are tied
The rope around
Her neck is placed
Her demons waiting
To be faced
Waiting to breathe life no more
For what is life worth living for?
As his stench we call humanity
Turns us to depravity
Yet still the sounds
resounds,
around,
Yet in her head
She hears
no sound.
Reah Roberts ©2010
Tales From Behind A Cushion 
Reah;
Truly, this speaks to me on several levels. It reminds me strongly in the end of a spirit rebuking mortal life from a sense of experiencing life first had and not vicariously.
Naturally the beginning is a woman (I assume by the tonation) of being executed and by the brief description, perhaps in the late dark ages or the beginning of the Renascence period of England, again, the former my assumption.
In the final consummation of the beginning, middle, and alas, final part, her spirit is tragically evaluating her former life. Odd, no remorse or otherwise of the offense that gave her to this dire end — None given.
The most tragic part of this wonderfully dark poem is that her life “was” far worse than the punishment, but rather the punishment more like a rewarding resolution to the means.
Douglas S. Taylor, your friend in this life, and perhaps, yet another…