He'd always turn away at the last moment,
this made him better than the barbarians.
Now a dream unfolds as it will
and he must at last witness an execution.

This convalescant life, he'd laugh, is a spider's web
set up in a hopeless location.
But now it opens all the windows
for thoughts over stale situation.

Look:

One man on his knees is keenly curious to the end
another, precisely as a crow, leaps from his feet
yet a third grips the hair of your kneeler-
your kneeler tethered to a rough stump
held thus by the hair- facing the sky.
The crow shrieks, lands, catches the light with his sword
and pulls it clear of the wood 
all in a fraction of a second.
The hair-puller raises the severed head
the crow turns and...Whow!

Until great change can somehow be made
or until the end of time
he pledges to resist sleep
for fear of this recurring nightmare
himself in one role or another.