Requiem, Kyrie

Taut, lost hands rose to his face,

As wode woes flared magnified, this hour;

His hands, bled to his neck, debase,

Memoirs from a breath of his voice turned sour;

 

“ My dearest… She… She is there…

In my mind’s eye, in a thought’s reach,

My bones canst no more bear…

To hearken of my reverie’s speech.”

 

Thralled knees bowed, suckling rosewood rust;

His heart lived shrieking enshrouded,

Within his forsaken bosom crust;

Unto an enduring damnable ballad…

 

As vampiric sorrows plagued the caving air,

His walls succumbed to his quivers;

His chambers yielded t’ward throes declared,

Years of transcribed romance reduced to cinders;

 

 The last strained droplets of tears,

Begun to choke his eyes of blinding passion;

For as the life of his corpse leaked of past fears,

The spirit of his soul became unquenchably christened.

 

 

-Leah

 

Author's Note

The title, 'Requiem, Kyrie' by Virgin Black, is the last song I listened to whilst finishing this poem. Seemed quite apt.

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