A lowly human hangs on a rope,
swinging above certain death.
His hands slip and slide, unable to cope
with the excruciating pain. His breath
weakens, he chokes on his tongue.
Blood like ice; cold sweat dripping like
a faucet; shivers down the spine. He’s just a boy among
men. Mentally, physically, emotionally just a tyke.
He prays to his God that he won’t slip,
but even with guidance his heart won’t win.
Finger by finger he loses his grip,
and after ten, he is punished for his sin.
His screams dissipate as the falls down the trench,
the rope is still strong, but he was to weak to clench.
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