TEARS UPON THE ALCOVE

Wreath upon bleeding wreath

Her anguish was spread abroad these stones 

With tears she watered their dying petals

The mortar of the mausoleum 

Interwoven and bound with her sorrows 

Sealed shut and eternally hidden 

 Lies the love of her life. 

Tears upon this alcove 

Was more than she gave 

She takes on the funereal apparel of the abandoned 

With time as hoist she’d draw strength

  from the wells of this bond 

Beyond the times when memories are inexorable

Though they be fond 

And  sanguineness rears its face in the far beyond. 

Each flower spread on the sunbathed lithic base 

Throws ajar the doors to a new phase 

That triumphantly she might waltz in.

Each loss and it’s ensuing mnemonics  

An extra coat of clay upon the perfect mould 

The insculpt that is her life 

Life so easily caressed by death

A rock waved and slapped and wet by the waters of the firth 

Unflinching and sublime 

Battle-bruised and beaten 

Till wounds are bound and healed by time.

She ululates in black by the resting place 

Not that the sun might depone

And upon her back abate his  baneful glow 

Or the wind might stop to blow 

At the dark sigil of which she was clad 

But that the weight she had 

borne; and did bear

Shall flow onto the concrete of these stones 

In the floods of her sorrow tear.