13 stroke 14
Or some time in between
An evil angel- having bided its time
Thrusts a pound into an apple
The world grinds to silence
In the brunt of dusk
Lightning struck four chambers
That one by one did turn to mush
And for months to come
There was little else of which they talked
Red run dry overnight
Awash in the moonlight
Though your name peeled slowly
Like a toffee apple painted with gold
And in the smudge of dusk
Infinite eulogies did erupt
Embalming you
Sweeping away all wrong
Enlightened
They carved their condolences into toilet doors
And gawped through stained glass windows
As your shadow did spasms
An orgy of taxidermists
Painted you peach with modesty and
Stuffed you with hindsight
Before blue light ignited
Making you shapeless
They made you a martyr
Your funeral a coronation
- In Technicolor
Though you only ever wore black
Now history fills you with fiction
Fills you with colour
End