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Chapel of Rest
I stood and watched it slowly sink
as it sank, define conflict.
As on the pew, my head in hand
and prayed to rays, cast by stained glass.
Recalled the beauty, that is past
Portraiture, when she stood tall
fractures of rainbow, on surfaces did fall
Like statue's stone, their cast beset
In solemnity, eyes, downcast rest.
Loud silence scream's, goodbye sweet love,
melt the starch of my resolve.
Stirred the tears, amongst the grief
as on cold slabs they etched a need.
Inscribed to bones, beneath the feet.
Prostrate, Gods will, put to the test.
Persephonie, snatched by Hadies sods.
The wood so polished it pervades.
Tarnished coins to close the lids
sparkling eyes the grave forbids.
Reminiscence of such charm,
aquaintances will flock and swarm,
but feelings stand alone forlorn.
The coach of death, steers careering
its violence, stabs a blooded spear.
A vacuum when a soul departs.
To soon that portal door ajar,
a sextons spade the graves deep spar.
For is purgatory, adorned bouquets of flowers.
Length and depth its waiting bower
cold and damp, it's need so sour.
Ever be the flaxen maiden so,
taken by the the black cruel crow.
Murder; not appease the deep hollow
But be the radiant nebula,
the southern cross afar.
Love letter pressed against the breast.
A fragrant scented handkerchief.
Vespers sung in the evening mass
Headstones echo with your laugh.
A sprite like Isadora Duncan; dance!
tribute to "The Sleeper" by Edgar Allan Poe
https://poets.org/poem/sleeper
as it sank, define conflict.
As on the pew, my head in hand
and prayed to rays, cast by stained glass.
Recalled the beauty, that is past
Portraiture, when she stood tall
fractures of rainbow, on surfaces did fall
Like statue's stone, their cast beset
In solemnity, eyes, downcast rest.
Loud silence scream's, goodbye sweet love,
melt the starch of my resolve.
Stirred the tears, amongst the grief
as on cold slabs they etched a need.
Inscribed to bones, beneath the feet.
Prostrate, Gods will, put to the test.
Persephonie, snatched by Hadies sods.
The wood so polished it pervades.
Tarnished coins to close the lids
sparkling eyes the grave forbids.
Reminiscence of such charm,
aquaintances will flock and swarm,
but feelings stand alone forlorn.
The coach of death, steers careering
its violence, stabs a blooded spear.
A vacuum when a soul departs.
To soon that portal door ajar,
a sextons spade the graves deep spar.
For is purgatory, adorned bouquets of flowers.
Length and depth its waiting bower
cold and damp, it's need so sour.
Ever be the flaxen maiden so,
taken by the the black cruel crow.
Murder; not appease the deep hollow
But be the radiant nebula,
the southern cross afar.
Love letter pressed against the breast.
A fragrant scented handkerchief.
Vespers sung in the evening mass
Headstones echo with your laugh.
A sprite like Isadora Duncan; dance!
tribute to "The Sleeper" by Edgar Allan Poe
https://poets.org/poem/sleeper
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