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February 3, 2011, 8:56 pm
Filed under: Poetry
Encased in marble bright, closed
seupulchered – entombed – Death waits
patiently. Like the alabastor cherubim
that guard the door of this marble
ship, anchored at the Port of mortality,
Death sits upon the bier of
eternal sleep with intentional riggidity.
How bright, how luminous her lily’d
countenance seems! Yet how strange
that though the moon is bright and
streams through the casement set above
the grave, all light is drawn, devoured
in the patience of her gaze. Oh
piercing gaze of patience, you
rent my heart in two when I
walked abord that ship of stone
that some will call my tomb.
Her back is straight, her smile
wide and wtih the barest inclination
of her chin, she draws all the living
to her side. And with that smile
which tears body and soul apart,
she bids the spirit set sail, depart
for the golden shores of eternity. But
for the body that remains, there gleams
a secret malice in Death’s eyes. As
soon as spirit is without, she lays
upon the flesh with a shout of
jealousy and sets her iv’ry teeth to
the throat of mortality. Oh blood!
how quicly spewed to stain Death’s
skin, dark crimson tide, yet turned to
dust before her hunger satisfied.
Moonlit tears fall from the edifice
of her stony cheeks, gaunt but patient,
still, she weeps, all around the ashes
lie. One day soon she’ll devour herself,
and who will weep for Death? Not I.
Filed under: Poetry
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