Hangman

The oak tree stands with one worn branch
of perfect height. This rope well used,
'twill serve its purpose for a year,
just as the forty-two before.
With practiced hand the knot is formed;
its loop a perfect fit around
my neck.  The bitter end goes up
and in the grooved bark, wrapped three times
then tied up firm. On tiptoe now,
a deep breath in, a snort, a sigh,
a firm kick of the tall wood box
I stand upon.  The rope, stretched, squeaks
as my full weight is caught and stopped.

Most only hang themselves but once;
I'm not as fortunate as most.
I am the ghost that haunts myself.
I know the what, I know the how,
I know the why. It matters not.
My hang-up looks me in the eye
and mocks my repetitious swing,
aware that every time I fall
another piece of soul will die.

Reviews

[ju]

the word "perfect" caught up with negatives always draws my attention. casts a deceptive light on events, almost makes them appear desirable. no- acceptable, expected? leave you to find that right word :)
the descriptions are great- very effective with few words. so effective that i read the first 5L yesterday and stopped- 'cause i wasn't in the mood to read a man hanged. your own worst enemy? the dark in this is very systematic- which makes it darker still.

[Richielee]

this could be read on a few levels,could apply to the living as well as the dead,superb work Joel

[.......]

I am the ghost that haunts myself

Liked this line, kind of truthful in a sense, we are our own ghost. LIke this write.