The Hanging Bridge

Bound now, with hands behind his back so tight, a blind fold over dry his eyes, seemingly to hide the fright from the enemies.

He can hear the water rushing below from the river that beckoned him home, on your feet they say as he struggles up and is met by their strong embrace, stealing him for the rope.

As they lower the noose around his neck he feels it tighten, now ever present the wooden planes creak under foot of this old bridge, to we're he is to hang until dead.

Any words they ask, while laughing and snickering among themselves, to the edge they guide him with no struggle for what's the point, as his last thoughts flow through his head he feels weightless, flying down reciting a prayer from childhood he thinks.............