Highwayman

 

The highway man

had lost his head.

He kept looking,

was it under the bed?

He had it yesterday,

but his memory

is not what it used to be.

 

Hazy images of glinting blades,

prison cells, that rotten cage.

The hangman's noose,

that necklace of shame.

But he just can't find where he left his head,

just memories of a judgemental man,

pointing at him, with a black cap on.

What did it all mean?

His memory wasn't what it used to be.

 

He thinks back, not sure how,

seeing as he has no brain now,

at the week before.

A big score,

easy pickings he thought,

but alas he was caught.

It's starting to return,

his memory,

he took a wrong turn

and the wrong carriage he did stop.

Stand and deliver, he barked

but instead of a rich easy mark

he found an armed mob.

 

Hazy images of glinting blades,

without his head the images fade.

The memory turned red,

hanging from the gallows over head.

The rolling baying crowd

 the light blinking out.

But the highwayman had lost his mind

'Twas attached when they snapped his spine.

But now it lay elsewhere,

a trophy perhaps

in the hangman's lair.

 

 

Thanks For Reading,

Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle