Where Death Worms Writhe

T’was a bone-chilling night, the stars twinkled high, Echoing the sorrow that swelled in mine eye. The high queen, suspended on her frigid throne, Judging me harshly as I stand alone. The night mist descends like a funeral pall, Cascading down and consuming all. Upon this hill, in sepulchral embrace, Lies the cold stillness of thy pallid face. “Despicable Death—thou wicked, cunning knave, Hast haunted me and stolen my love away. Unveil thy vault and open thy pitiless lid, Reveal my jewel thou has so hastily hid. Take me! Take me! Into thy dark keep, Let her rise, while in silence I sleep. Spare her the grave, O’ merciless scythe, And rest me where the death worms writhe.” “Merciless Moon, she was taken too soon, Our love was severed, our life to never bloom. Now seeds of sorrow are sown, A deep despair carved in every bone. Sinister Sphere—with thy ghastly gleam, Wake me! Wake me! O’ Moon, from this dreadful dream. Thy pale glow—so somber, so low, Mocking my mournful tears as they flow. ‘Tis that?—Tis that I see? Dost thou deceive, or do I dream? Is it she glimmering in thy ghostly beam? Or but a shadow of what has been?” “Grievous Grave, thou art vile, vicious, and vain, The thief of joy and thy herald of pain. Thy maw devours all that is divine, My love, my life—forever confined. Pondering, peering o’er thy pit so searing, Hearing thy serpent’s sibilant sneering. Forsooth, O Grave, soon I shall fall, Trapped in thy thrall, death’s final call. Hold me. Hold me, O’ Grave so cold, Cradle my bones beneath thy stone. There shall I rest in thy silent space, By the side of my bride, in eternal embrace.” -Edward