Remorse of the Dead

My dark beloved

When you lie asleep

Deep within your black marble tomb

For alcove and lodge

You will keep a damp, dripping vault

A pit of gloom

And when the stone

Weighing down your breast

And your thighs once supple

Through scant concern

Stills your heart

From it's desiring quest

Fastens your feet

From the reckless run

The grave, which shares

My eternal dream

For the poet the grave always understands

During long nights

When sleep is far away

Will ask: what do you gain

You dumb whore

Not to have known what the dead cry for?

And, like remorse,

At your flesh worms will gnaw