Last Breath (redux)

As fists upon a bed of grass,

Fell heaven's hateful shards of glass;

Anguished cries and flashes so bright 

(tremble trees in terrible fright). 

A hunter crouched - bright blade drawn out, 

And with it cut, precise, no doubt. 

Out first the gut (laid on the ground), 

The heart and flesh making no sound. 

Spear the lung to mirror disgust, 

Then roast upon this flame he's struck

Only to cry at least defeat 

As cold draws out each breath of heat. 

Then forced within this cloak of skin

To lie awake, regret his sins

And cast his name into the breeze - 

At last it comes, his death he sees. 

Afraid he goes, the man now conquered 

And the wind blows forth, ever onward.