"I hope he died well,"
says the man in a silk top hat
bending before a grave that is new,
strange amongst its moldering cousins.
I wonder what they expected of me,
indeed, I was a product of THEIR society,
THEIR world, that made it necessary for me to become what I am...what I was.
He hopes I died well.
Shouldn't he know?
Did he, and his like, and his ilk, not kill me?
As surely as if they had soiled their white gloves with the hangman's lever?
At this point bitter tears would escape me,
indeed, if I had such faculties anymore.
And I do not.
But did I LIVE well? Ah, the eternal question.
I lived, and strove to help those I loved...
not to say I was without greed, and vice,
for I now realize the foolishness of such lies.
But I went against king and country.
MY king? MY country?
I rather think not.
Whose country, then. Whose country did I befoul?
Surely not the country of the beggar, the whore, the street child...
for their country is larger and more pervasive than any king's.
I cannot deny I did wrong.
I did not only steal from men like these fine grave-visitors.
Far from it.
And, having lost the fog and despair of mortal coils,
I can realize that every wrong was just that...
a WRONG.
It mattered not the character, or station, or wealth of the wronged.
They were wronged all the same...
and I am left in their debt.
Have I paid for a crime, for a law set down by a stranger?
None took the time to explain such things to us.
Still we knew, still some obeyed,
and were proud of that obeisance, all they could be proud of.
But having never seen the good effects of any law,
how could one expect us all to bend?
But no matter. Let it go, and the earth will let you go.
Let go of the all-encompassing fear that was your last thought
If it can be called a thought.
The gentlemen move away from the grave
the grave of one unpleasant commoner, by the name of Thomas.
A lover, a thief, a friend, a condemned.
Did I die well? I wonder.
One cannot possibly die well if they have never truly lived.
Author notes
Um. This is a PW...I wrote this one partially based on a dream I had (the name, main theme), and it sorta became a commentary on society and a questioning of our systems, past and present. It is told from the point of view of the spirit of an executed thief, Thomas, at an undefined time in the past. It is a bit more blatantly philosophical than a lot of my poems, but yeah. If it is too far off base of what you are looking for, then please let me know!
A contest entry
- Ghost Writes by BabyBun.
380 points, ended August 18, 2008, 28 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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i love this. this is beautiful. This is my favorite part:
Whose country, then. Whose country did I befoul?
Surely not the country of the beggar, the whore, the street child...
for their country is larger and more pervasive than any king's.
I cannot deny I did wrong.
I did not only steal from men like these fine grave-visitors.
Far from it.
And, having lost the fog and despair of mortal coils,
I can realize that every wrong was just that...
a WRONG.
--it sets the theme very well, and makes the mood for the whole piece. It is like the person is looking inside themselves, even in death and they are realizing themselves, maybe for the first time.
very deep. Amazing!
And thanks for your generous comments on my piece.
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Thanks so much! I really worked hard on this one, so I love that you saw a bit of what I was trying to convey...
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Great entry - thanks and best of luck.
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Hello Maria dear. Once again you manage to blow me away with the brilliance of your writing, though that word and others like it don't do your work any justice. It is so cool how a spirit came to you! I'm pretty sure that's what happened, since you understand it so well. He should be proud, because this will make waves! Keep up the great work girl. I miss you. How are you doing?
Love,
Hannah
P.S. The story is updated! Let me know what you think!
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