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...

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