Song of the Knell

World of pain,

Aflame with sadness.

Shrouded with ails

Unspeakable 'lest my mouth spills.

The beckoning of flowers bent

With the weight of sorrow.

Of stones with names

1 never knew, yet feel..

I dance with them

And hear their soft whisp

Cursed be thy name and all thine deeds.

Oh how we yearn for the life you seek to spill.

Thou art truly black,

And the dead writhe

'neath the earth on which you trod.

No throne is mine among the Dead.

With shame entombed in restless graves.

A tearless sermon, and

Their silent tongues fell limp.

But mute curses sting deep.

... deep into the soil,

And travels yon the gates

Where they may linger

Like unwanted children.

Growing as tumours

In wombs of stone

Under weeping willows.

No peace then in death

Or life alike.

So be it...

But all are dead,

And only the knell sings.

Hymns of grief

Resounding in ancient churchyards.

Sweet is that serenade

To eyes in bloom with sadness.