This poem is from my imagined perspective of an executioner, a person who carries out the execution of people who are given a death sentence. It reflects my personal opinion about capital punishment. Every killer we kill will never kill again, but killing killers makes us no better.

Of haunted eyes,
And every man that dies.
Of remorse and penance,
And a guilty conscience.
Of an empty life,
Only full of dread.
Of living in fear
Of what lies ahead.

The words rang in my head,
Another guilty, made it nine.
But as I looked up at the prisoner,
His guilt doubled up with mine.

When I walked down my street,
Their stares bore holes in me.
But they wouldn't meet my eye,
Afraid of what they’d see.

Yet another night
Of nightmares and shame.
And the morning that followed
Told me reality was the same.

They say that one criminal dead
Is one criminal gone.
But with every man I hang,
A criminal in me is born.

Tags: WBC, Crime

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