THRENODY

Before you stand we
the blessed fruits of your womb
before your frigid stillness we stand
With heart heavy, broken and bitter
we stand before you rent cocoon,
crushed carapace of tender warmth
lying in the cold grip of death

Paragon of virtue,
the serpent had struck
tell me what broke the hedge?
Was faith bartered for fear?
Love for hate?
Guileless garments for ignoble robes?
Pain not death was the Evic curse;
why then has the joy of procreation
Brought tears in this stygian harvest of death?

The birds of night
sang with melancholic fervor
the elegiac omen of sorrow day.
Dogs in the dark
foretold in their horrid howls
a nauseating stench of death in the air.
Your sun was setting,
your earth was darkening,
the wind blew
the dry brown leaf falls.

Hark drifting phantom
hark flitting soul
behold your toil and labour
come forth from your sleep.
Your vine soon will ripe
your yard will overflow with wine.
Tarry yet awhile and
drink wine from the vine you
dressed in the cruel generosity of life.

These tears are forever
till I myself
am old and cold like you
coffined clod of clay
lying in death’s prison of freedom eternal.