Raging red against
dour death-sky
Leaves turn unwilling towards the inevitable; stuck hard and fast, they cling stubbornly
Against their
fate-- Envying the
springtime birth that
Raises its curled
fronds of fresh green towards the cycle;
Pregnant in the midst of such
death, finality.
The nature of women's sighs, hushed and
whispering
Breed
flowering eulogies and confessions of death
Which, faced sober against cross and stone, slowly turn
skeleton keys
To lay waste to already soul-less flesh.
As the body lulls its head in respect to the final
sleep,
Hushed stone watches with uncaring
angel eyes;
Blind worms breathe silent in hungry reverie
And eternity cries softly into the crowd of
spirits.