The rope that forms this noose

Chafes their idle necks.

Leaving burns rose red and sore.

They sway back and forth above

The honey-brown western dirt.

Yet they breathe, alive and willing

To live more.

Their judge and jury sentenced

Their blood to this mockery.

A public display of humility.

Excepting guilt that is not

Their own.

They walked the plank and

Descended willingly for out sins.

Personal Christ for our humanity.

Yet they will receive no stories.

No worshipping in their honor

Will take place.

They will swing alive, forever

Watching the constant gallivanting

Of a society who bestows problems

On a few scapegoats.

Shielding their faults for a rainy day.

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