' Grave '

strange Yeats robbed the second Coming,
challenged Howl Ginsberg raped,
stone steps repugnant stench of Dante',
blood dried feather of Poe,
rage against light that can die.

Howl , " Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani ? ",
indignant of fury or Love,
sin fills the casket gold,
lay sword upon shoulder,
of funeral in the wind.

no breathe fall spirit false,
beat verse waving tapestry,
decay draped abandoned estate,
chime toll the corpse,
brown edged paper and ink.

turn , Turn season dark,
hand reaches to knock,
Life spilled on rocky shelf,
Book of Word and Truth,
dirt and spittle open eyes to See.




 : To the poets and troubadours 
who penned darkness as they stole
from the Word of God.
Yet , they would deny His very existence.
Photo :  Jim Morrison's Grave