His was not a sepulcher
No grand marble tomb
With ichor fueled torches
To light the way for jeweled
Beloved dead
His was a grave half crumbled
Shoved out of place by growing ash and hungry vine
Epithet eroded by careless rain
All I could read was
James
Here
Every day beneath the ash
I touched his name
Fingers tracing time
Every day more words appeared
Breaking through corruption
James Morgade
1802-1823
Here
So long ago
So short a time
With breath left in his weft
Cruel fates cut his thread
I touched the rough stone
Dragged tears along the cracks
James Morgade
1802-1823
Lost Soul Lies Here
I whispered his name
Like consecrated oil from my lips
Slipped lost boy
James Morgade
I’ve found you- I cried
And kissed the rotted stone
One more word appeared
James Morgade
1802-1823
Killer
Lost Soul Lies Here
It could not be
A mist rose from the grave
Putrid rags and hanging skin
A noose still rung his neck
A rusted sickle in his grip
Eyes gleamed yellow brimstone
Screaming blade cut graveyard vapors
Cherry bright and thick
My blood poured over my hands
My belly split
Glistening offal to adorn his simple grave
Now James Morgade
Has a velvet tombstone
As crimson as Hell
And a new lost soul
Lies here
Love the twist!
Beautiful!