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Sonnet for Rebellion
What's the morbid scent that's on the wind?
The sweetly blackened stink of bodies swinging
on a distant gallows in the wind
above the bow-ed heads of women wailing
Straining my mind's eye through endless darkness
I see dead men spinning in the winds
Keening through the wailing women's sadness
I hear sinners choking on their sins
What were sins to hangmen in that hour
was merely desperation to the hanged
Truth is in the hand that holds the power
The hangman sees that hand remains unchanged
The wailing rebel wears her thirteen knots
while in shallow ground her brother rots
------
The Alienist
jhfurnish@yahoo.com
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Life, Death & Desperation
