The creeping creep in circle light
ensnares the breath with seeping fright.
The stone approaches bells do sound
the trumpet blares the funeral round.
And down below where fires burn
those ice cold tears churn churn churn.
The hollow men
with limbs of straw
are burning there, forever more.
And though it hurts and harsh it fares
they sing God’s praises as He stares.
The song is noxious.
To cleanse the sin
soft hands of flame caress their kin.
The creeping creep in golden mail
greets Dawn’s first breath with thundering hail.
The marble luster white and cold
entwines a splash of marigold.
The petals dance the petals laugh
the dew drops bathe the epitaph.
Those footprints there – my love did make
while gathering kisses for the wake.
Soft hands of flame – though lips be strong,
pray sin will melt before too long.