Shroud of Doubt (Narrative Poem)

         The dead hadn't walked the earth since Venice.

          The blockage of blood hadn't yet flowed out.

        For the dead will stay in their tomb 

                 until the sun departs. 

                  The sun departing was the least of one's concern

                  the departure of love had rang its bells of doom. 

                        A love long lost

                       a love long found

      hadn't any mercy to a heart gone wrong. 

                   To a soul gone bitter 

                   or a mind gone numb; 

           ‘bare witness for what's to come'. 

      Around the corner and down the street

       where the crossroads begin to meet

                       A love long lost

                      a love long found

          where their lungs begin to drown. 

         At the puddle

      beneath their feet

     the blood ran steep 

                    with iron and rust

                            Iron thrust 

                        into the chest 

                   of those who rest

never more to walk earth with their stench of death. 

                   Breath fogs the mirrors no longer

                   as the soul is doomed to wander. 

                               ‘No more’, they say

                     striking death with much dismay

         looking after the bodies that lay at bay. 

To be buried would be a waste

       of sacred dirt 

    they mustn't wait; 

spare none a clean slate. 

              The misery of life can wait

    as the pressure of fate begins to weigh; 

         to be buried in a shroud of doubt.