This Barren Skin - Funeral

May I wear you this night

As we marvel at our death

I would wane within your art

As you would become me

Like ashes circling the pyre

With virtues of the seraphim

While prancing indifferently

Amid the devil’s fingers

The sun, the moon

Our garments of glee and distress

In their wake we are born dying

Voicing insignificance

Awake with me into glacial skies

As the earth below lies august

Should time be meek we may drink

Of oceans of ageless silence

The north is unfurling

It’s presence welded on us

Latent — a monument

Amid ethereal bosoms

We kneel in tragedy on tundra

This barren skin

Ailing slaves to the word

Within the rigid commandment of woe

Shackles corrode lesions

In the morning regions

Where the pores expose

Beneath a cynical host

Designs of irony

Raped and bereft of all

In a sigh of ephemeral room

And eternal baptism of fire