The Crowd Roared Poem by paul anthony

The crowd roared, the lion roared, another christian faced death,
And one was as hungry as the other for another's final breath.
No tears were shed as he lay dead, no thought, no regret, no sob.
And the slaves and the lion keeper went back to do their job.

The stake was set, the fire burned, the witch screamed for her god
And the crowd of flickering faces cursed the path she trod.
But when night covered their sight they huddled round their hob
And were glad it hadn't been them who'd had to do the job.

The blade fell, the head rolled and madame murder committed,
And the crowd roared while another madame sat and knitted.
But the noise went dead when its terror bred a terror for the mob,
And none cheered too loud after that when madame did her job.

No lion roared, no fire burned, no blade flashed in the sun
But when the crowd breathed in the gas their death was as one.
Their flesh was mean when buried unseen 'neath a dark and rocky knob.
And at last a tear was shed when executioners did their job.

In court they sat their faces stone, their eyes had never known a sob
And one by one they stood and said: 'I was only doing my job.'
But the crowd saw through their law and hissed and spat and sputtered
When one person used those words another person suffered.

It's dawn again, that time again, the sun has made the day
And see again that fatal sight of wood and rope and clay.
The crowd sighed but never cried as the trapdoor life did rob
And the executioner went away well pleased with his job.