The Hanging

A soldier smiles, his neck in a noose

and even complains it is slightly too loose

He waits for death, the infinite reward

the Roman hero that falls on his sword

It begins to squeeze words from his throat

the opposing soldiers mirror him and gloat

The vanishing honour of another martyr

to heaven's battleground, to explore and charter



It is expiring the innocence and corrupting belief

they line the streets with misdirected grief

Some look away, and then tearful eruption

not for fallen soldier, for risen corruption

Flags fly high and waver in the wind

forgive them Lord, they know not they have sinned