I'd seen you and your seperate,
gradual withdraw and repression.
From us, the family
the promises you'd said
were made to keep.

Yet, above this hanging tree,
your limbs move no more than
the breeze.
Side to side, swaying with
demented ease.

The days had grown worse,
we all felt it and grown weary too.
But to do, such a thing to you,
would be of no sense, in such
a forlorn passion of unequivocal
self-hatred and action.

You hang before us, the
only leader we'd ever known.
Victim to none other than that
of yourself. The rope so strong,
as your stature. Musclar, toned,
reknowned and alone you
are a mere ornament of sorrow.

Barren, from head to toe,
we admit we are too ashamed
to touch you. The decay will
surely cause your fall, down to
this pathetic reason for your dissolve.

How could a world destroy it's own
creation? Where does the line
exist between decency and
fervid, inexcusable humilation?
To cause such a man, of such
repute and piety, to come to such a
destructive, malevolent decision
to take his own life, at expenses
to exclusively his bewildered kinship?

Such a world must not be so,
for smiles and vows exchange
as much to and fro. Yet, here is
our father, the man of dignity and
righteousness, upon our innocent
tree, as a mere devout to heretical,
imcompetent expediency?

The world must simply not
be as it seems. For such a
disaster decress only struggle,
and aimless dreams. Yet, he was
a man of respectable and loving
flair. But a smile, a wish, and a tear to
a prayer still won't revive his
embrace and it's inticing snare.