FUNERAL HYMN F O R T H E DA M N E D The sunlight dripping in my wounds, I see the anger soon, so soon, and lacking nothing more in more I lick my wounds and senses sore. Repeating all the while a score: the hatred I will feign ignore.
Your soul in damnĂŠd hell abhorred, I clapped my hands til they grew bored. The stabbing pleasures it brought me are countless. Now why won't you see? The damage caused can't be revoked, your throat it cannot be un-choked. My wife, you stole her right from me, but who does own the last "tee-hee"? I staggered, clawing at my hair, for love requited: nothing there. And all the while knowing that you ran off with that man, that rat. You torture me with all you've done, and so I'll even up the sum...
Matthew La vigne
48
I tip-toed to "our" bed at dawn, stood silent; then I heard your yawn. Your lax attention gives me chills my disposition full of thrills. Took one step back, let blunt edge drop, you cried out once for it to stop; but cries were muffled once I threw my caution out, anger renewed. Alone I find myself a noon or lying without gain or boon. I trudge without a soul this day my prison is the price I pay. You haunt me everyday I live; my life, the sacrifice I'd give to see you once more animate, my act gave no one benefit. Reminded once more of the crime, these walls entrap, count down my time. And now I wonder if death's toll is taking fruit from out this bowl, or if this bowl is naught but sin, and tainted is this suit of skin. Your soul knows not to where it's been: recitals of my sweetest sin.