The Hanging

Photo by Thomas Verleene on Unsplash

If you have come to see a frightening
They aren’t made anymore with a gun
No casings will you find remaining
Below stained, no-graffiti walls.

The noose always had fresh awakenings
For kings, and poets who pray
For outsiders, it is always been happening
Below trees of any kind

I see you in the fringe of the crowding
A sea of black hair
My arms are behind me tightening
My palms in a folded prayer

The killing is yet for a beginning
It is just like the day we are born
My story was never in the reckoning
Look closely, the prayer is a lotus in form

It could be you, but it is me
The crowd has no imagination
Of the last meal
You don’t need a light
For a cat with one eye

The best shadows
Are made with a cuff that is tight

The best shadows
Are made behind light