Yard Sale of Thoughts

Bodies bent,
beards masking misery,
the tired of life
attend the courts of finality
praying the almighty judge
will grant their appeals to die.

Four sit in prayer,
their losing hands
longs since folded
foreheads furrowed
too dry to bear seeds, 
they meditate on their deeds.
Grim eyes seeking honorable ends.

But one is beyond god--
his body limp
his hands drained
defeat visible in his bare feet,
beard shorn free, but
he still feels the nits. 

If he is sentenced to more life
he will unwrap his remaining garments,
jangle himself before the jury,
preferring pleasure's perjury
to the sentence of another day. 

No defense in mind,
he is resigned to whatever torture
or fairytale the afterlife creates.