The blackened hole breathes dankest, putrid air
across our faces, trepidant and wan;
our fears descend into the shadowed depths
of memories that lurk against our wills
to threaten each day's levity with pain.
We stare into the well in basement's dark
and steel ourselves against the task we're set;
familial tradition's duty done.
The body wrapped in muslin we bring forth,
and cast a new ancestor to the flames
with prayer and stern expression, we express
the curse we feel as blackness takes our forms.
Our numbers shrink as months turn into years;
this family so secretive and lost.
|
Author Notes
.
.
Based on "The Cottage" by Judian James, and very much opposite in theme!
I hope you enjoyed the read.
Mike
.
.
|
|
