Till Death do you Meet
Calls from the grave,
haunt me.
With tombstone dials and skeleton tones,
haunting, taunting, flaunting
its death to me.
This uttered prank call of sorrow,
calling to me like
the cold shoulder of a broken friend
or the frozen tears of a broken child.
Bending my arms and back
like the words of a fallen friend,
or the touch of unrequited love.
Lost to the comfort of oblivion
and the terror of nothingness,
finding the lost within the found.
throwing stones at the lost ones
like withces of Salem and communists of paranoia,
boring the eruption of Vesuvius and St. helena,
giving them only one more reason to evicerate
the once green world,
stained not by tears but life,
with love not brokeness,
with acceptance not wounds.
The faults that run through the porcelain earth
like the veins of a bleeding arm,
sending shivers into the void
like ripples into the sea,
calling Leviathan to the dead,
devouring the sea's lost reigning over the tide then,
shaking into nothingness...like the rest of us.
Creatures formed by the hands of the weary cosmos and Father Time,
creatures of habit,
creatures with moldable paths,
but stone fates...
the fate to kiss the mother Oblivion,..
Till death do you meet...