Song Of The Knell

World of pain
Aflame with sadness
Shrouded with ails
Unspeakable 'lest my mouth spills.

The beckoning of flowers bent
With the weight of sorrow
Of stones with names
1 never knew, yet feel
I dance with them
And hear their soft whisp.

Cursed be thy name and all thine deeds
Oh how we yearn for the life you seek to spill
Thou art truly black
And the dead writhe
'neath the earth on which you trod.

No throne is mine among the Dead
With shame entombed in restless graves
A tearless sermon, and
Their silent tongues fell limp.

But mute curses sting deep
Deep into the soil
And travels yon the gates
Where they may linger
Like unwanted children
Growing as tumours
In wombs of stone
Under weeping willows.

No peace then in death
Or life alike
So be it
But all are dead
And only the knell sings
Hymns of grief
Resounding in ancient churchyards.

Sweet is that serenade
To eyes in bloom with sadness.