Posted: December 14, 1992 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,

I gnaw my way through coffin ends for him.
By night I stoop my way through hallowed tombs.
He waits below his house in shadows dim

In corridors I’ve hollowed into rooms.
He waits and watched me return with spoils
I’ve taken from the dead’s eternal gloom.

Beneath the graves, there in the endless coils
Of tunnels carved through earth without a tool,
The Bishops keep us slaving at their toils.

They don’t believe we feel; they think we’re fools
And that because we live in places dark,
Nobody thinks we love, they call us ghouls.

Degenerate, perhaps; a canine mark
To my appearance, but I still feel.
I wish I was human, to walk the park

And had not fell so far to sadly steal.

[terza rima]

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