Danza Pieta 
by Michael Doyle

Noisome crypts jangle the bones of innocence
Where evil lingers knowing no pretense
Organ music begins to play in its tonal range
Something wicked and something strange

Paranoia, whispered fears, and shades of doubt
Echo like unfriendly notes raised into a shout
The night swirls, cycling into insensibility
Falling under the cause of its own impenetrability

Momento mori reminds me of our fragility
There is the sacred and the sensuality
How vain are the glories of the earthly
Black death marks us in its imagery

The terror creeps in between the strings
A carnival of souls knows Satan's stings
The Reaper rouses himself into a dance of death
As Halloween quietly takes our last breath

The end of life arrives without any glory
But there are whispers of an inevitable ghost story
Only to find that the ghost of you knows no rest
And you have failed to pass life's final test

Momento mori reminds me of our fragility
There is the sacred and the sensuality
How vain are the glories of the earthly
Black death marks us in its imagery

The cultural impact of mass death is contemporary
No longer just a thing of the past and literary
It is not in any sense fleeting or temporary
There is nowhere to turn for sanctuary

This death etches deep into culture and society
Causing youth to lose confidence for anxiety
Sudden painful death is an omnipresent possibility
It demands penance in its dance-with-death allegory

Momento mori reminds me of our fragility
There is the sacred and the sensuality
How vain are the glories of the earthly
Black death marks us in its imagery

(c) October 24, 2024   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved