The Grave Dwelling of the Dearly Despaired

Whence the days of yonder
Wander in pale decomposition
In Death’s icy grasp
The darkness of a dreadful intuition
As each second becomes a falcer
To the mandible of a poisonous rage asunder

The web of denial
Catches the withering of a faulting design
Raging in tragedy
Condensed in the eyes of a blinding ambition

And then the fog rolls out
Enveloping all convalescing minds
Sealing fates with dooming carnations
Rotting roses destroying
The scenery of the sublime

And graves lay forgotten
By the craving of a blood thirst calamity
Marred by the Phantom’s razor sharp grasp
In the catacombs of a distant reality

Ah, Death becomes martyred
By the cold shoulders of despair
Creating a mausoleum of improbabilities
For the living impaired

We are together
Under the possession of demise
Walking in agony
Wishing to mortally die

If time were of the essence
Why must it rob us blind?
Making us suffer
For the sins we never knew existed

Our innocence is gone
Now we must survive on our own death
Doing morbid things
For the honor of our own shame
As peace for us will never exist
As we are born in the essence
Of the Anti Christ’s bliss

We never wanted it to be this way
But our deathly indiscretions must live on
As society has become the devil’s backbone
For the tragedy of our decisions and our decisions alone

In our own decisive enslavement
May we forever rot in grief


Written By,
James Darwin Smith II
3/18/11