My head hung low, crowd screaming around
Yelling as if they knew I was Hell-bound
They are all wrong, I am a martyr of my belief
If I die, would it really give you relief?
The tin can was the only thing that kept me from dying in an instant
Through my anxiety, I must keep my balance constant.
For I was to be hung you see
The noose around my neck stung like a bee
As the tin can wobbled, the crowd roared
Then my adrenaline level soared
When I bowed my head to pray
The mob wondered what was at bay
A man came over, a little small fry
As he approached me, I closed my eyes
I want to open them, I don't if I can
Because I'm so afraid he will kick the tin can
I've seen that some people has not understood this yet. The narrator is standing on the tin can.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The creativity and story are both wonderful. I highly recommend it for all readers. This is the kind of thing that makes Poemhunter worthwhile. GW62