When you're hanging by the neck <br />until your life is nearly done., <br />It might almost seem a blessing <br />when the hangman lets you down. <br />They then spread you on a table <br />Then the real torture began. <br />They cut away the man parts <br />from their sacrificial lamb. <br />Then your core is cruelly opened <br />and your bloody entrails rise <br />in the hands of he, your butcher <br />displayed before your dying eyes. <br />Your brain supplies an image <br />of back when you were a child <br />and you greeted good Queen Mary <br />in fine ornate Latin style. <br />Mercifully shock set in <br />as death transfixed your eyes. <br />Sweet Jesus’ name was on his lips <br />as the recusant dies.<br /><br />John F. McCullagh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-recusant/
