Hanging
By: Michael Kooiker
Attuned aloofness to which I’ve been groomed
Foolish I’ve duly accrued a life askew,
I brood and stew in a dubious mood, reclusive
Would I, if I could? Extrude myself from this ghoulish gloom?
But, alas! I choose to ruminate on cruel view
Looking up to the age old yew
Up to where the highest strong branch grew
A noose, looped, exuberant waits anew
Astute; it croons to me its cool ruse
Lewdly cooing a promise of refuge
Illuminated by the fluid light of the moon
Its fibers glow, twisted shadowy blue
I stood and mused my ado and
My view of me in superfluous rue
Today I knew I could not elude
This tool of fate like a tumor grew
The rope maneuvered, assuming its duty
Unloosed its loop to throaty wound
In airless stupor I began to swoon
A boon to humanity, removed from this world
Rebuking life for this ghastly tomb