A New Lost Soul

Photo by John Thomas on Unsplash

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