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.