day TWELVE HUNDRED and FIFTY ONE

the hanging tree

we begin again
the evil
sweeps the land

hidden in
filthy robes
washed white

but inside
a foul stench
of hate

permeates
their putrid
souls

leaving these
innocent souls
swinging in

the fetid
wind of
the wicked

and yet the
constables stand
by and say

that the innocent
have in their
sadness

tied the knot
leaping to
their death

victims of
their
sorrow

refuse to
see that the
hands

of the evil ones
were on the necks
of the innocent

and we stand by
and wonder
and shake our heads

as a cold wind
blows through
our soul

--Thomas R. Thomas