I reflect upon the Father's love -
monoliths in Yosemite.
The eagle screeches far above
a song, "Your love's extremity".

The end of his strength it comes in a rush
a wildfire burning destroying in lust
the joys of a life are forgotten in turn
passions and trusts that were once so bright
paled to nothingness, haunted remains
they cry in quiet voices, the roaring above
drowning the sorrowful sounds of lost lives
what he was has long since passes through silent halls
of what may have become only ashes that stir
no dormant embers lay hidden to ignited in pain
a fiery expanse, though grey as the burnt sky
an emptiness within and without reflecting each side
the end of his strength it came in a rush

The end of his will it came on but slow
endless dripping of acid on stone
shallow grooves to begin, easy ignored
forgotten within the raging tempest surrounding
then stone is gone and he along with it
the pain long left flows in furious tides
aches from the past, for without his armour
the wounds that will not heal are open to the void
not seen or felt when present, pressures innumerable
with dawning realization, for all things do hurt
the treatment of others as knives in the mind
hurting themselves to pain those loved to hurt once more
cycles of pain of hate of suffering
impacting upon an open soul
and the end of his will did come but slow

The end of his patience came dressed as fury
a relentless glacial desire plunging in anger
sweeping all before leaving naught, torn earth
disguised at rage at this world, this life
screaming in powerlessness for he cannot protect
or any for it is themselves, screaming and crying
in a denial that cannot be expressed in fears
or the red steam of blood shed under cause
only shown in a heart of ice that has suffered enough
scars of loves lost, trusts betrayed marking emotional flesh
twisting the shape of what was once straight, true
a mockery of man seen in sneering lips that did smile
in heavy hands that once caressed ever gentle
memories of life buried in uncompromising overwhelming agony of ice
the end of his patience burning as fury

Darkness creeps in as it ever does on light
until there is naught left but shadows and mists
as rest comes for him with final gasp he breathes
At last, at last.

O Reaper,
dark jewel in the shimmering sea of night
sickly flower blooming in the garden
pale wanderer of the doom-bound desert,
weave for me a tapestry
and drape it over the blinking stars.

O Death,
sweet fragrance of the morning
rapping on the windowsill,
compose for me a symphony
to haunt my ears as I sleep.

O Ghost,
gentle and geriatric in the dim moonlight,
sweep off the collecting dust
and blow it into the four winds
to carry us off on the backs
of the eagles.

O Ghoul,
your silhouette as the sunlight dims,
carve for me a juniper tree
so that I may dance around it
and welcome thee.

O Plague,
humming in the breath of the insects
crawling on the furs of the beasts,
pour for me a strong drink
to quench the flames of my disease.

O Maiden,
creeping into cronehood as the clocks stop
drifting down the clear stream into the damp
floating with the smoke to be imprisoned
multi-faced and schizophrenic,
sing for me a rhapsody
a hymn for my church of undoing.

O Glacier,
still and monumental,
melt into the sea of shining
and polish for me a mirror
to see clearly a glimpse
of mortality.


O Thanatos,
born at the beginning of time
flowering into youthful beauty
falling corpse-like in the rocks,
kiss the clouds and the trees
and write for me some poetry
to ease me into the long sleep.