Inkblot black canvas

Sky, static, supine

To needle and thread;

Flat-felled seam,

The stars are all dead.

 

So sing, heartstrings, and

Chant dirges, solemn;

Lo, the funeral

March does march and will

Soon march for us all.

 

Dread step to altar

With rosary beads;

Pray, but beseech whom?

Penitence won’t save–

God is locked in tomb.

 

White spectre does rise,

Corpulent, and cruel;

Satellite low-slung,

Beneath her sharp light

Many men have hung

 

In the precious name

Of righteous justice—

In the name of He.

Now they shall lose the

One they cannot see.

 

There was a full moon.

And moon ate the dark; 

Eclipsed the Heavens.   

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Kindra M. Austin is a self-published fiction author, and a writer/Contributing Editor for The Bridge Magazine online. You can read her poems and prose at https://poemsandparagraphs.wordpress.com/ and articles at http://thebridgemag.com/.