The Cemetery Gate

I remember the afternoon

I perched upon the cemetery gate  

hidden behind the branches of an oak

and watched you covered  

with a blanket of summer flowers

they spoke those words over you 

those promises of resurrection 

little did they know and if they had!

she sang a song for your dead ears 

a melody about angels and rest 

her voice was tender and sweet

her throat was milky white 

the blue innocence of her eyes evident

How could she even begin to know  

there would never be rest for you 

only tormented dreamlike realities

that by morning her porcelain throat 

would be a clotted mass of red

and her blue eyes of innocence 

would stare blankly into nothingness

like the crow on the cemetery gate

watching the late afternoon sun  

slowly sink behind the red horizon 

into the darkness of nothingness