A Midnight Hanging

And the moon
Always staring
Like the ever-open eye of God a'glaring
At the brilliant banalities
You'd bled with no regret,
Looked on as if
Watching someone else's razed homestead
Burn bright across the neighbourly fence;
Your disconnect
All keen and wed,
Tied up tight 'round
The intellect 'pon which you fed...
...But nothing new now
To be a found from this pon'dring:
Midnight has called,
And the mob's come a'thronging.

What sensational fury
That rose up from the crowd!
And you withdrew to your space of the
'Here', and 
the 'Now'
And forgot the rope 'round your neck
Somehow, 
Inept with all the sins that found you out
You wept for the Grace of a God you'd denounced!
Your death bed now a'glimmer,
A shroud in the definitively singular encroachment
Of an impossibly infinite reproachment
Of all you'd done
To bring you thus:
No more will they shout "ONE OF US!"
Yer just another torso,
Dropped three feet through the trap door,
Swinging in the dust.