The Speaker's Last Thoughts

                Nick Hale

Fear creeps up my spine like
Vines up an ancient tree as
The familiar scent of a sweet smooth wood
Pulls me into a memory: of a time when
Words meant so much less:
How little

I knew back then. Back when
My paper would take no abuse
From the rubber side I so frantically use
Just to hopelessly repair
My sentence.

It will be delivered, spelled out, but
I should have known that this wood
Would spell my doom. Someone once
Told me the trick is in the
Execution.

He said it's what you say not what you do. I
Hope he's right as I prepare to face a crowd of
Bloodthirsty, word-hungry, thought-provoking accusers and
I hope the accused will be executed
Well.