The Condemned

It is finished.
Not with a bang but with a whimper.
We have killed him- you and I.  All of us are murderers.
How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?
Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand
Out, damned spot! Out I say!
The call of conscience says guilty!
The horror! The horror!
Who, if we cried out, would hear us among the angels?
Father, forgive us for we know not what we do
No other end of the world will there be,
No other end of the world will there be.
Perhaps your agonies are payment for your father’s debts.
Truly, I say to you, today you will be in paradise.

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