Untitled

Untitled

 

 

You are not alone in this sorrow,

Beneath the same shroud

I also lie…

Embalmed.

The Black Raven….the vulture of souls:

Has pecked my eyes,

And the furrows of blood

That runs down my lips,

Taste …of you.

 

That veiled woman of death,

The Banshee

Will not sing my death song;

But turns towards me

And wails into my ears,

An unending curse of the betrayed.

 

And still I cannot die!

 

These demons tear my flesh,

Break my bones,

In an unfruitful search for my soul.

They do not know,

That it has always been hidden,

In yours.

 

Never were my words untrue;

Each was chosen from the veins of my heart,

And woven with the black strands of your hair;

The furnace that welded our souls still burns,

And I for one will not extinguish the light –

Even with your tears.

 

For what seems dead, and has no flame,

In the darkness of the night;

I see through these bloodied eyes,

The embers beneath the ash;

Still glow.

Perhaps brighter from the wind

Of the storm.

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