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Your
voice takes winged flight,
My only ghost in the moonlight.
While the Garden of Bones closes in,
And the Darkness, she knows my sin.
And roses with their thorny spines,
Claim with budded tongues to owe my fines
To a whisper of confessions spoken as as lovers do,
And for the pain of soaring down, to Purgatory we flew.
And here the sun is black and withered well
And I feel cleansing fire burning like the Flames of
Hell.
But oh my name she still knows,
And she calls to me as the Gates to Heaven close.
Another angel for their fold
With wings and hair of purest gold.
Their song of loss, their ethereal singing
Yet church bells are still ringing.
In their steeple I hear your sound.
The last crashing note in my heart does resound
The earth folds over a fresh carved box
The realm of men below us locks.
And they will ponder,
And they will wonder
Of how at the devil's falling a hands the seraphim
could reach out to clasp.
Flying backwards, we are both made slave to Love and
Gravity's grasp.
-a cemetery is a
fine place to say, "I love
you."
