Beauty is the dead
The antlers beside my bed
A skull of moss
And bones across
My shelf of life and death.
Upon a golden scale
Lies an order never frail
Spirit of green
And ossein sheen,
A decree of bygone and breath.
In mortal grasp I live
Beside the memoir bone doth give.
In fate's silky weave,
I stand firmly to believe:
Life's final beauty is the dead.
Author's note: I prefer this rhyme scheme to the original. Still not sure about that last stanza.
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Trillium Beneath the Pines: An Original Poetry Compilation
PoetryA compilation of my poems, many of which explore the cyclical nature of the world: life and death, day and night, and the seasons.
