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Scapegoats
The rope that forms this noose
Chafes their idle necks.
Leaving burns rose red and sore.
They sway back and forth above
The honey-brown western dirt.
Yet they breathe, alive and willing
To live more.
Their judge and jury sentenced
Their blood to this mockery.
A public display of humility.
Excepting guilt that is not
Their own.
They walked the plank and
Descended willingly for out sins.
Personal Christ for our humanity.
Yet they will receive no stories.
No worshipping in their honor
Will take place.
They will swing alive, forever
Watching the constant gallivanting
Of a society who bestows problems
On a few scapegoats.
Shielding their faults for a rainy day.
