When The Moon Stops Watching

If I must die, let the stars hang low and weep,

Let the moon run black where the mad winds creep.

Let heaven vomit ash on the last pale day,

No hymns, just teeth in the dirt where sinners lay.

Bury me tight in the raveled night,

Where worms hum psalms and rot keeps the light.

Let mold be my silk, let fungus seal the seam,

And maggots preach mass where the lanterns gleam.

The air turns viscous with a breathless groan,

The walls cough bone-song in a hollow tone.

Each step I drag is a cursed, crooked rhyme,

A clock that ticks only at the hour of crime.

My soul is stitched in a raven-written shroud,

Threaded with hushes, braided with cloud.

My mind is a well where the candle drowns,

Where queens put crowns on clotted clowns.

Beyond the veil where silence eats and feeds,

Past thorned avenues that bleed and breed,

She smiles like a ruin with teeth of glass,

And sings me soft into the grass.

If I must fall, let the world forget light,

Let the moon stop watching and gutter the night.

Wrap me in black where no prayers begin,

And let the last bell toll me in.

Reviews

[Michael Sun Bear]

Again Milena, so dark! But I find this perhaps the most beautifully written, most lyrical poem you have written. I like it all, but that second stanza just blew me away. I also love the two lines beginning with: My soul is stitched in a raven-written shroud. I DO also appreciate that you work in rhyme and rhythm; you do it very well while maintaining very interesting, effective language. So many who attempt this art form end up using mediocre language just to get the rhyme they want. Well done you! MSB