Branded In Death
by Michael Romani

Lost souls caught in the quicksand's mire
They struggle and struggle, until they tire
Burning the last embers of hope until at last
The struggle is forgotten and their lives are past

There is something wicked in the poetry of death
It's dark and forbidden, this last thing left
Turned pages take away the vestiges of belief
Until there is nothing there, not even grief

The clock of life ticks on the hearth wall
Hiding from the shadows, long and tall
Bringing us back to where we once were
There is nothing left to search, nothing to infer

But, that we live and bleed to our best
Walked beside in our selfish quest
Hunted by Lucifer's hounds to our dying days
We meet our deaths on our feet and quietly pray

An ancient healer meets her hanging tree
Tar and pitch poured without mercy
Until, at last, she is set on hell's fire
The pestilence of humanity burns on this final wire

All to hide a worse sort of guilt
The story told sewn into a crazy quilt
When Lucifer fell, he did not fall alone
And no amount of sacred murder will ever atone

(c) October 29, 2017  Michael Romani
All Rights Reserved