The Sorrows of Life

This city's thirst for blood is insatiable
I can feel it seeping from the cracks in the pavement
Flowing from the sewer grates in clouds of crimson mist
It works its way into our troubled hearts
And draws us to the alter

The early evening light
Bleeds through stained glass saints
And falls upon upturned wrists
A knife, handle fashioned from female bone
Feels right in your left hand
Southpaw – do your worst
To keep the devil happy

In that churchyard
Tombs stretch out for miles
You’re intimate with every cadaver
Can trace their history to the dark ages
When this place was nothing but a clearing in the forest
A stone circle in the fire’s orange glare
Our curse was born in this primeval time

Making sure the sorrows of life never end

From Reciting Shakespeare with the Dead, published by Hammer & Anvil Books, and available from Amazon.