What Must Be Done

Demanded from yesterday

An old oak tree wilts atop the hill

Cold winter came upon us

Set forth this bone chill

Decapitated crow scowls

Thin ice cracks below feet

Dead leaves scatter in the wind

Soulless about to defeat

Distant church bells chime

An echo of sadness sweeps across frozen land

Funeral procession marches

Boat across Styx isn’t even manned

Desolate unknown graves blanket us

Alienated from mother’s womb

Hollow wooden coffins contain us

Vacant heart is sealed in a tomb

Damaged bricks form a facade

Footsteps in mud lead nowhere

Failing to see the door ajar

Plummeting into a spiral of despair

Dangerous falling of fate

Home now; empty of life

Sparse and silent of rhythm

Bled from head to toe with knife

Descent into depths of loneliness

Burned by a beloved’s deception

Nailed by foot, nailed by wrist

Born of immaculate conception

Damned wings are delicate

Ground caught daily tears

Soaked earth flourished

New trees sprout for years

© David Greg Harth

2010.12.17.09:42:10@550MadisonNYC