After the next hanging
The rope swings in slow narrowing tiring circles
Stretched taut
under the weight of the stretched and twisted neck
The empty body dangles and swings,
emptied of dreams and desires,
Voided of life
an inert piece dangles at the end of the rope,
in tortured peace
silent and silenced, limp and swaying
The peace of the hanged,
all flesh and bones but no spirit
The peace in this place of reward and retribution
is broken by the oozing damp smell of fear
from the hanged in the last moments of surrender
and the stench of human waste
from the enlarging dark stain
In far away places,
the assured nods of the righteous mighty
celebrate the hanging justice
limping on a club-foot
Justice looks down at the hanging body,
dismissive, conscience assured,
any hanging doubt white washed
the broken body now forever blind to human justice,
its spirit now free surveys the hangman, the jury
the just and the strong, the clever and learned,
cocooned in their certainties
in an arena peopled by uncertainties
equations, assumptions, hazy and fuzzy
The bold gold pens in the heavily ringed hands
of the wigged and the learned indifferent
sketch clever curvy lines, circles and boxes
on the ever shifting fine sands of justice
in widening loops and areas
that will soon box in and entangle the feet of former allies
soon to be declared guilty
and soon to be consigned to the waiting rope,
soon the winds will wipe away the fine sketches in the sand
whilst an indifferent world looks on
Soon another old alliance will be dissolved,
a former thug is judged expendable
buried crimes exhumed with care,
entangling evidence amassed,
misdeeds recalled and retold in minutiae..
and another guilty is hurried away
to an encounter with ropes that stretch
and to the final stretcher
before, after and beyond the last,
the first and the next hanging,
let no tears be shed for the hanged,
the twisted neck
nor for the hanging world, justice stretched
rather let the ears of the world
be flooded with the song of blind bats and deaf owls
Reflections 
Noel–where to begin? First of all–amazing poem, beautiful in its anger and accusation, and brutal with honesty. That first stanza, so full of motion contrasted with the inert peace of death, of the empty body himself, is incredibly powerful–yes–this broken body on the end of that stretched rope held dreams, had hope, had life and spirit; all gone now with a jerk of the rope. The biological reality of that hits in the solar plexus. Then, the short second stanza, and the beginning of the third, describing the people/entities/corporations (?) that really wanted the sentence praising the judge that issued the sentence. Actually here, I am not sure if it is justice itself, or the sentencing judge that is crippled and limping (my assessment is both, twisted and crippled by who and what they serve). I really like the freed spirit of the accused looking back on his accusers–beautiful! And then the same horrible cycle prepares to repeat itself, while the world looks on. The indifference here (using the word of the poem) is stunning; total global blindness and deafness to what is happening in its midst. I am so glad you posted this–a lot to chew on.
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