Poetry Archives

From out the rumpled home of dreadful things
  A clearing light emerges.  Far beyond,
The hills lurch deep into the night. Bells ring
  aloud.  They drown the darkness with their sound,
Ring clear through vale and rising ground that’s far
  Away from all the living and the dead.
The long procession leads up to the fire,
  A forest clearing, wilderness’s end.
Foul-smelling smoke rises, tortures the nose
  Of each and every mourner.  Sickening
And sweet, the burning stench of human meat
  Allows for no quick solace, no repose
From the spectre of death that’s quickening
  The grim procession’s egress from the heat.