May 18, 2003

  • How sinister the clover in this bed
    that lays in wait for me.
    Not to be laid upon but under
    now my heart no longer thunders
    in rhythmic harmonies.


    How lurid is the bird
    that sings strange funeral melodies
    in yonder leaning tree.
    With notes that float to be unheard
    as dark accompaniment to my strange destiny. 


    How morbid, too, the buzzing just above
    of this fuzzily bumbling bee.
    Seeking to make honey I’ll never taste
    now that I lay in waste
    for all eternity.


    Yet how absolutely perfect it all is.
    How darkly beautiful all things be.
    As the triumphant sacrament of life
    endures the futile sacredness of death
    to perpetuate the Great Mystery.



    Powered by audblogPerpetuality


    Not a member of Xanga? Leave comments here.

Comments (236)

Comments are closed.

Post a Comment

Recent Posts

Categories

The End of Days

May 2003
M T W T F S S
« Apr   Jun »
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031