Heavenly Interred
Thoughts etched in obsidian,
A wharf rock verdant-
Wisps of color,
Like a jade curved smith.
To hew out crevices of the wast'd rock,
Wind washed and sand clothed-
Pulsating taking solitude,
With angels milling about,
deceptive in their demeanor,
Like newborn locusts,
Death is taken captive.
The captain calls out a-ship, a-shore?
Golden waves play harps in the summer,
And dance a deathly knell in mid-winters reverie,
Yet in all the colored hue,
A heart finds no solacing bosom.
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