The Tomb

What ceaseless fury,
What abomination,
Would dwell within
This accursed place?

What blinding light,
What clenching shadows
Would dare to speak
Within these halls?

Rest forever
My simple mind,
My wretched heart,
Be still and quiet.

Such tempting beauty,
Such starving prey;
We shall not dare,
We shall not stray.

This roofless bliss,
This sunken maw,
Shall burn us raw,
Shall eat us whole.

Until divided,
In whole we fall;
To holy sirens,
As shadows call.

Like Wisps

Autumn was punctuated
by a sudden shower
Of icy, crystal clarity.

And so we drew
Into the sharp void
Of an honest winter.

The problem with lies is
they become so brittle when frozen.
Burdened with translucence.

A tendency to fall apart.
Not worth the effort,
Not keeping us warm.

We needed something that sizzled.
Something to warm our hands about,
some kind of fire or friction.

We found it in warfare,
but lost it in victory.
Too high, the stack of headstones.

The tall shadow and crisp air
caused desperate reflection;
Why were we here?

So we gave into stillness.
And then we saw it,
The Truth.

The flames were our prison.
The fields of blood, our keepers.
Our loss, our light.

We vanished.
Chased by winter winds,
Like wisps, into the night.