And white knuckles
Grind their teeth
Their stiff necks crack,
In the rope's loving embrace
Like the whips
That once ruled them.
Their limp limbs swing
And sharp blades of grass
Like lonely poppies
Their burnt feet arch
Like the scarred backs
Of their ancestors,
Angling off toward the wood chips beneath them
As the final seconds of their life
Are forced from their lungs.
Embraced by Xs of blue and white
Float without worry
Above a field of white robes and sheets,
A wash in a sea of corn
And vacant night.
Cheers greet the dozens final moments,
Transcending into a roar of victory
The world is now a better place,
The world is now a better place.