At the strike of midnight she
can be found walking around
below the mystic moon.
So long ago before such beauty
withered with time her window
opened to the night so brightly
lit from the candle lights glow.
Wrapped in silk and flowing white
an outline cast a shadow over her
fate so late where all the beauty
sleeps and dew slowly settles upon
the bone chilling wind swept ground.
Oh crier of the night I feel your pain
over tree-tops laughing and frolicking
in the chilling rain that pours over graves
to awaken you from your restlessness.
You died before your time spent
here with us and like ghosts the shadows
will always rise and fall over your eternal
resting place amongst the sacred whom
God laid to rest.
So my sweet who sleeps so deep while
worms about you creep and seep into
your golden casket so melancholy placed
with my tears that fell on top and forever
left a pool of my dying love for thee.
Walk with me when I call your name
amongst the headstones and stately
vaults flung open letting the winged
ravens flutter and scrape their beaks
sharply on the throne placed before us.
I hear an echo from afar as chariots
of fire come to greet us taking us through
a portal of triumphant horns that blow
welcoming us to the underworld where
groans within capture and bring us to
her bosom to forever be at peace in
this darkest of dark places alone
quiet and still where we are reunited
with the dead.
© Copyright 2012 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved