The Vigil

Sitting death a corpse of times loss in drips

Pendulums swing marking time dresses in rust

Her echo of words speaks in his mind's hollow

Soon the decay will banish her to tumble

The bend of limbs absent flesh to move

The signs of sanity melt the madness of his face

This shining vigil remains on a promise of return

His decrepit chair and spinal pour becomes one

The morass of synapse dissolves her face.

Banished the last of a believed memory

Halloweens gestures come and go in spectres

Why do I remain? The question roars

Last command with thoughts to leave results...

...in a quiet elbows creak

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