Jan 2013
Under the sepulchre where my heart beats slowly,
There lies a necropolis where the dead lay glowing.
-
The undercroft beneath my ribs inhales frailty.
The tombstones of the truth here reminisce of failing.
-
An Acolyte to the corpse of Babylon,
The basilica spire, lies thereon,
A whisper of what had there been,
Before the Plague, the demise of Men.
-
A Monk to the infected Abbott,
The cathedral drowning in the cab’net:
The darkening secrets, too much to let go,
The flowing blood, too much for the snow.
-
A Coquette to the blistering Brothel
The modern meretricious hostel,
Lays Her cradled head down to rest,
The false hopes of a Prince, there infest.
-
The memory of a malignant massacre,
The Cancer spread like fungus on cadavers,
He tried to scream with no chords to make
The sounds emitted to keep the worms away
-
A Father of a Failure, afraid of the mirror,
As well as his own damnable creator.
The dissolution thereafter commences,
Although none change his recompenses.
-
The Leader of a glorious tribe there fallen
Rotting, decaying, like the rest of the solemn
With all respect, I know not His name
Forgotten in time, as was His fame
-
A “Friend” to a Martyr turned to a Betrayer,
Betrayer embroiled terms of the conveyor.
Martyr’s eyes and entrails are now long gone,
Though not with time, his head absent along.
-
A Dread-Worker to His mortuary,
His concept of death one day did vary,
Found were His diaries of a necrophiliac,
The town had him drawn, and quartered at that.
-
A Navigator of the salted sea,
He lays here now, bereft of memory;
It took His ship, the rocky cove,
His body here, His soul with Jones.
-
A Prophet of a fictional God,
He said he’d save the sacred sod,
And yet no miracle ever made He
His followers putrid now, festering.
-
The Violinist to His melody,
Forgot to eat, His mortal form craving,
Developing the perfect serenade,
He fell starving ‘fore having writ the last grade.
-
There is no judgement among the dead,
Except for what we give unto them,
They sleep soundly, forever eternal
Caring not who lay next to them, fraternal
Are they, and with silent kindness
Accept those also sharing their blindness.
-
The piercing shallow eyes,
At least for those who still have them,
Lack vision of the sky,
Or of the flowers who up to it stem.
-
Under the sepulchre where my heart beats slowly,
I feel a chill inside my spine that takes advantage fully,
The necropolis has inner bliss
It lies under ground and in our midst.
There lies a necropolis where the dead lay glowing.
-
The undercroft beneath my ribs inhales frailty.
The tombstones of the truth here reminisce of failing.
-
An Acolyte to the corpse of Babylon,
The basilica spire, lies thereon,
A whisper of what had there been,
Before the Plague, the demise of Men.
-
A Monk to the infected Abbott,
The cathedral drowning in the cab’net:
The darkening secrets, too much to let go,
The flowing blood, too much for the snow.
-
A Coquette to the blistering Brothel
The modern meretricious hostel,
Lays Her cradled head down to rest,
The false hopes of a Prince, there infest.
-
The memory of a malignant massacre,
The Cancer spread like fungus on cadavers,
He tried to scream with no chords to make
The sounds emitted to keep the worms away
-
A Father of a Failure, afraid of the mirror,
As well as his own damnable creator.
The dissolution thereafter commences,
Although none change his recompenses.
-
The Leader of a glorious tribe there fallen
Rotting, decaying, like the rest of the solemn
With all respect, I know not His name
Forgotten in time, as was His fame
-
A “Friend” to a Martyr turned to a Betrayer,
Betrayer embroiled terms of the conveyor.
Martyr’s eyes and entrails are now long gone,
Though not with time, his head absent along.
-
A Dread-Worker to His mortuary,
His concept of death one day did vary,
Found were His diaries of a necrophiliac,
The town had him drawn, and quartered at that.
-
A Navigator of the salted sea,
He lays here now, bereft of memory;
It took His ship, the rocky cove,
His body here, His soul with Jones.
-
A Prophet of a fictional God,
He said he’d save the sacred sod,
And yet no miracle ever made He
His followers putrid now, festering.
-
The Violinist to His melody,
Forgot to eat, His mortal form craving,
Developing the perfect serenade,
He fell starving ‘fore having writ the last grade.
-
There is no judgement among the dead,
Except for what we give unto them,
They sleep soundly, forever eternal
Caring not who lay next to them, fraternal
Are they, and with silent kindness
Accept those also sharing their blindness.
-
The piercing shallow eyes,
At least for those who still have them,
Lack vision of the sky,
Or of the flowers who up to it stem.
-
Under the sepulchre where my heart beats slowly,
I feel a chill inside my spine that takes advantage fully,
The necropolis has inner bliss
It lies under ground and in our midst.
