Omniscient of a hanging; free form |
There's an old man on the avenue With hands behind his back; Them wrists be raw Those boots be scuffed These soles are cut real thin, The soul was hung right here to dry, ( his rights were lonely beings That couldn't grab the law And look 'em in the eye ) . Old man, time is ticking fast The noose is waiting and Thumbs twiddle behind your back! There's a fire in his belly That burns about his chin It limps right up his throat And crawls out with a grin! It burns out brighter than The flames 'aneath these feet Trodden jovially over And choked down with a gulp. The late maiden took his eyes And held them in her own, Applying salve where salve be due (but missing where it hurts the most) She was just passing through (the subject I defer) Though it must be shown; In lieu of sun thee flowers die. The fire under his feet (Much hotter then that within) Has consumed the old man's whole And he flees into the noose To hang his feet a little higher, The fire in his belly Burns about his chin So he holds the noose intimate For though its tight embrace The flames about his feet burn hotter, Asphyxiation not so scary (a friend to ease the misery) As the flames that burn so slow, Delayed conflagration of the soul. His eyes blink a tear The heart flutters a time for last, It was really quite dark Until the maiden took his hand; ( When days seemed short When time seemed long ) She went so long before But has a seeming longevity That I quite adore, Held once, held yet Saeculum clamor. |