Anything Considered

The stained glass of a midnight sky stretches from peak to peak
Of Ancients furrowed and browed
They overhang a great expanse of fields
with gutted knolls and pools
These shimmer with Midas Gold.

The spirits grapple in a deathly chill
Of the Funeral
Oh what cries and yowls!
Sorrow reigns and soars as King with a scepter
Whose striking sound is the very gong of death.

Every man is the Lone Man, who
With his dark overcoat
Is the black dove, dead rose, and vulture lord in One.

The crow is silent upon the Tree
As it watches him walk by
Walk by
Bestride pools of lies and bleeding giants
He stops once
only
To drink from the well that is forever dry.

A hazy fog surrounds
This life is yours to live, and mine.