@ you, Lions Den

The verdict has been read,
the sentence passed.

My fingers trace the noose
against dark heavens,
my eyes blur with deep
if undefined
emotion.

In thought, in prayer,
in the precious name of Jesus
I settle the loop around the neck
of this squirming pestilence;
in heart, in mind I draw it tight,
cutting off blood, oxygen,
life.

Yet mixed with foul laughter,
enticing words still burble
from those sin-stained lips!

Left to my own devices
I would have stopped it
years ago, dropped
the accursed body
through the trap door
straight to hell.

Clearly, it is not my hand
gripping the lever,
not my ears
waiting for the signal.

Clearly, it is not my heart
mourning for the lost.