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,
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