Friday, 18 March 2011

death renews

the ringing of bells in the hallowed tube
from the top of your haunch you yell,
a tribute of ripping fury punching from your lungs.
This is all for glory, this is all for good.
It's not until it reaches the last tile,
that a pawn becomes omnipotent.

The organ chimes a eulogy,
for the broken and dejected,
this is no attempt to sooth,
you will be saved from yourself,
and taken from your hell.
A cacophony of confusion,
battering the brave.

I am awash with apathy,
it warms me by your grave,
I mourned you once already,
but I don't believe in being saved.

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