"Off with his head," my executioners said,

So I brace myself for heaven.

Psalm twenty three verse seven

Is the only verse I know,

And I'll regret it forever that I never read more.

My first time dying, and probably my last

All thanks to the army and their "talk shows"

Painting Iraq like a cheap Michelangelo

But there's no glory here, only gore.

At least I've been good; it's all I ever was:

An American "hero", captured, caged and killed.

Maybe I'll avoid that wretched furnace below.

Damned pitchforks.

My last sight of this world is the ground,

They draw the hood beneath my throat,

Tight all round; I can't breathe.

Cold steel is unsheathed.

I hear a hear a soft prayer murmured,

Then his blade, hissing through the air. Yikes.

My life turns to darkness,

Nothing is there.