Gedicht
Neil Rollinson
The Good Old Days
The Good Old Days
The Good Old Days
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.
© 2010, Neil Rollinson
From: Poetry Review Vol 100:1 - Our Disappearing World
Publisher: Poetry Review, London
From: Poetry Review Vol 100:1 - Our Disappearing World
Publisher: Poetry Review, London
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The Good Old Days
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.
From: Poetry Review Vol 100:1 - Our Disappearing World
The Good Old Days
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