death of a soul

dying candles,
sat upon a waxy table,
 dirt eating upon there defenseless blown sand,
 a tearing cross crooking the side,
 the unwelcome....
 ...blew,
 waking the burnt,
tanned and tattered scroll,
 the benches had of it,
 grey bones,
 cracked skulls,
 ashes and dust to sat,
 the creeky staircase,
 the web fested doors,
 shattered glasses,
 the clouds were grey,
 a reaper smile upon scratched,
 a bloody moon between choked,
 a rotting crow,
celebratory mooted mags,
 a welcome bid,
 staggered in my soul,
 rained on,
 already grey,
the silence gazed upon,
 a wondering sons' soul,
 not the wind did blow,
 nor a case did creek,
 upon a falling sin,
 a moon tried her best,
 yet a tear down ran,
 thorns rained,
 tearing it to part,
 in choking moans,
 gasping for breath slid,
 to prickly pains wash,
 silence.... ran a death,

a Harp of Death

It was a beautiful piece, and I had of it peace,

Blaring in mind violins, cuddling in self-shadowed loins,

If there were of her tears, then drowned were them in beers,

Punished a son, a livery of a burnishing sun,

Pain………………

What must be it then? A heart in direction of ten?

Devoured I but a moose, self-set upon a noose,

Upon a cloud of fog much I lost, watered eyes on hailing frost,

Beats that never count, aches that forever mount,

 Left but to hide in grey alleys, laughter scare of decamped allies,

But so shall I have my way, upon a king’s tray,

Hope………..

And to that day, I keep to my way,

Torn fingers upon a harps’ string, strumming to the bitter sting,

And be death beats I to the line, then I shall seek of lie under a pine,

Listen to the beauty of peace, while the cloaked shreds this flesh to the last of piece……………….