Their bodies dangle, giving up on life, as the chains dig deeper into the flesh.
Horror so sweet in giving death . . .
Yet, I come least near into be that forgiving in the weak.
As the moon rises and full circle, being a roamer of night will come.
Come in slowly as a withering shadow, dying because the sun never spoke goodbye.
Teeth poke through lips, scaring the bottom bow, dabbling rivers within.
Eyes bloom stone fair where tints of burning cobalt as streaks of lime bleed and blind.
Body twisted, beyond what is known as human.
Blame it not the moon.
Never blame a thing that can’t be touched, for all the problems it has made.
Listen to only the rattles of chains.
Groans of the passing souls, that weep forgiveness and will never earn.
Fly, in freedom dreams, in chance all this is not real.
If one can bleed, cry, smile, and shout, than being alive is summed up.
To where the guillotine falls in swift motion, sadly not enough force to cut.
For again it must rise, and fall.
Until the body is away from the head, in forgiveness of crimes, that rely within.
Crime again, to a mangle being, that carries weight as the next person.
Know only, it is because of this night, things change.
Blood will drop to hose the land.
Tears will wilt the flowers.
Words will be as they are words.
In comes the moon, as the changes happen.
The teeth scar again, a reminder what can’t be return.
Fading away as the metal steel comes down on one’s own neck.
In join others.
In fairness, that no is safe.
But let them think so, for the world needs to keep spinning.
Even when their might no one on it to see it do so.
Moon smile; give hope, as this world has given up.
Just look and see it.
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