Poise on The Verge of Insanity

At the Arch of Perdition

 At the Arch of Perdition

Unkempt services, a horror itself

The memories take refuge upon a dusty shelf

Two appointed love birds trying to sell

A modest tale of romance at the gates of hell

The ball, what a grand gesture!

Kept on easy rails at a toppling measure

They say it’s not to be forgotten

And in the evening trails a swamp house sodden

Though often tread and trimmed for lure

Barely hoping to condemn a loss meant to mourn

Surely this greatly-tied knot only leads to good

Then find a new ghost to blame for leaving as it should

So tender, so soft

Dies an ancient cot

And the lives it sought

Lay crooning draught

Their marks forever wrought

“And here you will rot.”