The Corpse Priest and the Wreath

Believe it or not, this poem came to me in a dream- kind of freaked me out a little... my mind's a messed up place!

Down,

down,

down the rabbit hole,

hold on to your pure white soul,

wicked things, and wicked fiends,

will tug and pull you at your seams,

 

See the card of seven swords,

first sleeve drawn from this deck of woes,

Oh, what evil deeds do spawn,

when the high corpse priest is drawn.

 

The parade swells and marches past the courts,

with the high corpse priest on his pure white horse,

sailing down through the heavy crowds,

a deathly prince with a skull clad crown.

 

Bring him thorns and bring him blood,

and olive brances soaked in myrth,

thyme leaves stolen from fresh dead mouths,

bring them from east, from north, from south,

 

Fashion a wreath from all of these,

for the high corpse priest you must please,

before the bell does toll for you,

and your pure white soul must come unglued.

 

Down,

down,

down the rabbit hole,

come seek warmth

from the bitter cold.

 

 

Author's Note

So it's a little disjointed in places because it came from a dream- but I made a couple of changes here and there to help it along. I wish I could show you the creepy images that accompanied this poem in the creepy nightmare I endured! :P I hope you enjoyed it anyway- comments please!