The Thief

They are baring my arm, my left arm. Those who steal shall be punished. That is the law. I am held as still as stone, but my heart is beating Just above my lungs my heart is pounding, With every pulse, I breathe a little less. The sword is being sharpened. One would not want it blunt or rusty, It would not suffice. I cannot turn my eyes away, Nor bring myself to do otherwise than stare Helplessly, at those who will bring about my doom. Cold rays of blinding sunlight Glance off the whistling blade, As it shrieks down towards me. I try to tear away, But my arm is in a vise. And as I scream, fog closes in about me.