Tempucide
I look upon my isolated destiny, but cannot turn away.
The stones, painstakingly embossed with ornate
Inscriptions, speak endlessly to no one, except me.
I hear the language of polished marble and
Long-decayed roses in a dirty vase.
They scream to me the tomes of love long since
Laid to waste, even in memory.
They beckon me to join them, alive inb their community,
Standing against time and the forgetfulness of the mind.
Take my hand, they say, for I am asleep
In the house of God, and you are alrteady mine.
A headless angel watches over me as I sit and ponder.
I see a hand reach up to take me away.
I cannot turn away from it, for I am already there.
The cold process has begun.
Though I wait, they have me.
