The Hanging Tree.

We wear
paisley bandanas to protect
our bones from dust storms and
the rough midnight terrains
of legends, that still wail
on the ranch and prairies.

They're coming for us, son,
murderers of the moon
riding horseback with
silver blood on their
manes.

Cattle lowing,
shaking as we herd them
into another rebellion.

But the harvest is imminent;
can't you hear the reapers
grazing? The bison wallowing,
the Colorado pasture
protesting like rusty spurs
on stolen heels.

Noose around your
heart, throw that pistol away -
take me instead
to that hanging tree.

-
Written for Larry's contest.
Listened to "The Hanging Tree" by James Newton Howard (from Mockingjay soundtrack) while writing this.