255 – Beneath The Gibbet

Poem number 255
Beneath The Gibbet
He hung beneath the gibbet
Spinning slowly in the breeze
The flies around his open eyes
And dust around his knees.
Beneath his feet Old Faithful lies,
His head upon his paws
A glistening skein of dribble
Hanging from his aging jaws.
Beneath the dog, a beetle
Resting gladly in the shade
He’ll wait there ’til the evening
When the heat begins to fade.
Three souls, three fates, three stitches
In a tapestry of death
Three different stops along the way
Towards that final breath.


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