Slit deep in the archway-
a phantom hollers.
For random keepsakes-
of tandem scholars.

One governs the Onset-
the second, the Coda.
A reckon to two takes-
pass a beckoned nova.

Madness sidles a soul-
to the coast of resent.
Where boast finds shapes-
the most unbent.

Echoes calling for Coda-
to warn of her face.
Which mourns the meek-
and thorns her grace.

To wonder of knuckles-
that fill ****** fist.
She kills those who seek-
to spill into mist.

No bed sheet drapes clean-
now lost to the few.
Who loft in their weak-
soft cradling queue.

Every onset must close-
while time is stone.
A climb without crest-
is rhyme laid alone.

Inferno marked through eyes-
the onset bows to hate.
And sweat, drowning vessels-
wet with ruined fate.

Shining on to such nothing-
the cheap martyr goes.  
Now sleeping with devils-
keeping their clothes.

Damp with foul meaning-
Onset and Coda are few.
Left in debt to the meddle-
that beset their old view.

Error to their contribution-
their cries created none.
With eyes full of remorse-
time flies again in one.

An end is our greatest desire-
so to begin is our fear.
Our kin kills the same horse-
that we shrill to spear.

Deep in the portal of question-
there dwells a stuttered pain.
That yells to complete the course-
so to knell once again.