I can hear the echo of the footsteps, coming down the corridor,
I know just where they’re going... and who they’re coming for.
The pace that slowed to a crawl, then stopped at my cell door,
my 8-by-10 caves in on me when I think of what’s in store.
See, I shot my older brother, while he slept one noon away,
placed the barrel to his ear and hollowed out his brain.
I called the Sheriff to let him know of what I’d done that day,
then fired up a Newport Light while the cops were on their way.
I admitted that I did it, and I looked them in the eye,
told them I had no regrets and did not tell a lie.
I left the jury no cause for guilt when they sentenced me to die,
although it may have made a difference if I’d told them why.
I felt a hatred toward him, and I could not gain control,
if I had not, witnessed it... I never would have known.
He should have never touched her, that sickness in his soul,
he was her trusted uncle - she was only ten years old.
My daughter went to hell-and-back, by the evil of her kin,
I would not put her through the trial just to save my skin.
So I kept my silence - and accepted - that murder was my sin,
at least I know damned good-and-well he’ll not touch her again.
Original Copyright © 2006 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written May 2006; Edited May 2017
