Caskets lay in flames of life,
bodies are too surreal to touch.
Kissing the frost of anger,
lifting a veil of tears toward fallen gates of heaven.
Swollen hearts lay shattered on a stone floor,
dark watchers are in sapphire shadows.
Tiny devils dance in tune with sorrow,
Sun light has fallen like a corpse from an oak tree.
Spring turns away from them with an embittered sneer,
Dramatic cries to the Gods in heaven,
ignored by fertile angelic bliss.
A fabled word of comfort burns the fragile skin.
Daylight fades away into history,
a memory of loved ones remains in the soul.
Gathering storm clouds in a bronze hue,
spirits climbing a stairway to judgment.
This old earth is lost among the onyx fog,
spirits of the dead used as pillars for death’s castle.
Chapter# / Title
©2008 Mike Sawyer
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