Guillotine Poem by Eric Cockrell
Guillotine
the guillotine stands
alone in the square,
the pinnacle of pulse....
that drains the heartbeats....
traffic heavy, horns honking,
hurrying, hurrying....
trucks and buses puffing clouds
of death into the air....
neon signs keeping score.
billboards selling the dream,
street preachers selling Jesus....
corner whores selling themselves....
in sterile rooms atop the skyscrapers,
far from the stink, far from
trash strewn in the alleyways
like tiny lives forgotten,
gum stuck to the shoes.....
they gamble with futures,
trading hungry mouths without faces;
never looking back.... vultures
in black suits and ties...
winning, winning, or losing it all.
while the homeless and the addicts
walk the streets below....
looking for something they cant remember....
light dancing on the razor-like blade.....
heads from bodies, hearts from souls......
profit from the last heartbeat!
You've hit the nail on the head again. There is always someone ready to make money out of someones pain. Great write. May i invite you to read my new one called, Unwritten soul.
Very justified criticism, poetically expressed. Well written, Eric
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/3/2025 5:41:54 AM # 1.0.0
It is rampant capitalism at it's ugliest worst! Billboards selling the dream street preachers selling Jesus corner whores selling themselves How true, how true! Thank you for presenting to us the lied to magnificent masterpiece.My eyes are opened,