Mourning Band

The descent starts
with a dance, of tears and fire.
A culture of lids
lowers the salt, the silver,
the gems.
Antithesis to cremate
a golden ascent.

The night long vigil had a
naked puff.
It will roll now in stasis.
The ash will take over the tongue
for a big lie. Faith healers stand
in a row. The empty hands
were getting a burial.

The toeless path will ride the
wheels now. Beyond the blue sky
there is no death.

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.