THE GOOD OLD DAYS Poem by Neil Rollinson

In the dark ages they took their time.
They knew about pain
and butchered you slowly, whistling
as they went. It was God's work.

The first few minutes were awesome.
I didn't know I could scream like that,
but nothing lasts forever,
soon the adrenalin kicks in and you're high

as a kite. The flesh comes off
like bark from a tree, the soul rises,
and the body breathes.

The Romans were worst: they'd let you live,
but slaughter your wife and child.
You can only suffer while the breath
runs through you, any torturer knows that.