John Arthur Poet Narrative

Epitaph and Tomb

A tradition beyond the grave, leading the dead and dying to sporadically engrave 
upon themselves an epitaph, in hopes of discovering their forgotten path. 

And that if and when  
they may remember their begotten requiem. 

A name!  
To which they may exclaim 
that which is reclaimed, in so to proclaim; 
their name.  

And so in their carcass tongue, do they sing in syllables that maketh undone 
Bleeding words without lung, whose ethereal gusts art wrung 
From deep within their tormented souls, a symphony high strung. 

Turn thy gaze to the corpses who art hung atop trees whose guttural choir 
Births from their damnable fire, burnt offerings from a chorus 
That burns from thou carcass. 

An inexorable melody 
born of fires most eerie. 

Behold! The wailing of a new borne,  
fitting as in their late discovery so shall they be reborn, 
in a body cold. 

The uncanny cries of dead men remembering to Mourne  
What was lost in a life whose memory may not return. 

someone, something they once thought to know,  
a single fragmented memory, a seed they seek to grow.  
Perhaps in hopes to save,  
that which memory fails to brave, 
So they may awaken from their ghoulish visage, and perhaps even behave,  
If not like the kin of the revolving grave. 

To thou whom art mortally challenged and forever enslaved  
to all that is ungodly and morbidly depraved.

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