Spinning

Spinning away,

And around,

On a gibbet,

Noose tight

Throat flayed

Hands bound,

Legs broken.

This is not to be escaped,

Outlasted or even outwitted.

It is to be suffered

In all its glory,

Dead, died, gone

To perhaps be reborn.

But before the rebirth

The knowledge of the death,

The fear it will be forever,

Abandoned by the gods to

Rot and wither and begone.

Perhaps this is my fate,

Perhaps, or

Perhaps it is otherwise.

It is not for me to know.