Receives the soil
To smother its flames.
Just a burning remembrance,
Just a solace to ache the soothing
Times of simple yearning.
Just a darkness to make misfortune
Out of something so familiar
As the sky’s embrace of winter
Through her eyes.
Like two blue flames
Fanned only by the sighs of grief,
Unable to be extinguished
By tears of a greater hue.
Madness rolls over
Her frail form,
Beneath the twilight’s curtain.
I call to the forests for comfort.
She sends signals
From her fading gaze.
Just a moon that never received its attention,
Just a face that never shied away
To the next,
To the hex
Of a thousand more words upon the field
So frozen over by snow,
So much received with the winds
Of dawn’s continued bereavement.
Like the gaslight
Of the flame
That never whispered quietly enough
To the sentencing
Of two new justices.
Like the mourning
To the morning
That never washed winter from its hands,
Never fell to the mercy of the bloody land
Where Christ’s feet were washed in the soil.