by Steven Craig Hickman
I saw him hanging there on the tree.
His once slim neck broken, swung free.
No one likes to admit this possibility,
the life of man in simple layman’s terms;
yet, here it is in all its glory, burst asunder.
I once saw my friend alive, his eyes
so full of fight and vigor, a man of passion
who lived for god and country,
as if those still meant something;
unlike these days, when men go down and down.
Times have changed alright, but for the better?
Here we are watching on as earth goes under,
and her child humanity expires before the dark truth;
for we will not beget alternatives to our dread
until such time we’ve known that which knows us.
I stand here with this axe and hack him down,
who only yesterday stood on firm ground, my brother,
a soldier warrior blessed by children and a good wife;
but whose mind fell through the black sun,
and gently flitted like a wild bat across the moon.
My brother’s gone who once blessed me with friendship.
Now I must bury him and give him back to earth, his mother.