The Loss of Love


Dead men don't walk and dead men don't sleep,
but soft and vicious and through crowns of stone,
the dead men do speak
Crawl through the rot and sift through bone,
together with shadow and earth
and fool and king,
together all alone
Murmurs from the Otherworld,
quiet scream of mind,
hurtful, hateful, shallow souls
did tear down this shrine
Wind and night and moon
wait upon that deep, dark hill,
raven hair streaming and fingernails tearing,
She never gets her fill
Shroud of grace
and tomb of heart,
Passion of the Night,
the truth of the matter is:
every word was a lie
Dead men don't weep because dead men don't feel,
but upon that altar, for once and all,
she finally did kneel
And so she cried herself blind and gnashed her teeth to shards,
the loss of love was a smile too close,
and a kiss too far

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