pete_gasparino
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2003
- Messages
- 251
The Murder of Nguyen Tuong Van
The Murder of Nguyen Tuong Van
He was ready for death, he had told himself,
In cool confines of mind,
And as a clock ticked away, upon his shelf,
To fate he had resigned.
Punished by the hangman’s rope,
And by the ink of the warden’s pen,
Three hundred and ninety grams of dope,
Twenty-six thousand men
They had called it choice or consequence,
Justice, swift and true,
They had called it plain old common sense:
Righteous and overdue
So he bore in mind his mother’s hands,
As they marched him through the hall,
Of her black eyes gleaming through unruly strands:
They prepared him for the fall
While darkness descended with the folded hood,
No sunglasses did indict him here:
His faith and hope of somewhere good,
Had shrouded all his fear.
And as the sun beamed bright up in the sky,
God granted him to see,
That while his body was sure to die,
The fools had set him free.
The Murder of Nguyen Tuong Van
He was ready for death, he had told himself,
In cool confines of mind,
And as a clock ticked away, upon his shelf,
To fate he had resigned.
Punished by the hangman’s rope,
And by the ink of the warden’s pen,
Three hundred and ninety grams of dope,
Twenty-six thousand men
They had called it choice or consequence,
Justice, swift and true,
They had called it plain old common sense:
Righteous and overdue
So he bore in mind his mother’s hands,
As they marched him through the hall,
Of her black eyes gleaming through unruly strands:
They prepared him for the fall
While darkness descended with the folded hood,
No sunglasses did indict him here:
His faith and hope of somewhere good,
Had shrouded all his fear.
And as the sun beamed bright up in the sky,
God granted him to see,
That while his body was sure to die,
The fools had set him free.
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