Craving the souls of those gone,

Shedding two thousand eyes

From one thousand skulls that pry,

For they are forever seeking,

and always searching for home.

Never resting in their terminal state,

With forever’s transgression on their plate,

Giving place to the worms of night,

Crawling forth from femurs to skulls of white.

Oh give it up ye bones of old,

For if memory were to test this fate,

You would recall thy spirit sold,

And destiny will forever cover your face

within this hill of putrid blackened clay.

For hidden is the truth,

That you and your companions in clay,

rejected Him when the sun was in your day.

So weep not your tears of blackened pearls,

For they and you have no worth,

And they like you, will forever remain,

hidden beneath this black clay of earth.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004