A poem about the night Joseph Smith and his brother were killed.
|The Last Night
Kneeling on a wooden floor
that was littered by the remnants
of dried mud, dead leaves, and loose pages
from his wife's letters.
He contemplates why God
would bring him to such a state.
The iron bars of the tiny cell
make gray shadows
upon the stains of tears that
run down his face.
His older brother stands
peering through an empty window to the outside,
where animals masquerading as men
knock upon the walls, howling obscenities
begging for an execution.
These men pace the outside,
waiting for an opportunity to ambush their prey,
as the full moon shines
it's light upon the barrels of their rifles.
Still kneeling on the grimy floor
he wrestles with the meaning of the
violence that has come upon him.
A hollow shot rings out,
his brother falls through the window
into the pack of bloodthirsty men
giving them an appetizer before the main course.