A Quiet Return

The conflicted heart is home for gods and demons.

His skin gave up all the warm shades of Life.

The veins turned black like twisted ebony.

His hands lay still and cold ―

like stones kissed by Death ―

folded in an eternal supplication.





Darkness held him tight in his claustrophobic little abode.

And gilded strings chanted their mourning

as he tried to reach out for someone donned in white

who would not mislead him from Heaven again.





Some swift pair of hands somewhere

sealed away his dark brown eyes ―

now faded and gray, the light yielded up

To wicked angels below ―

And locked away beasts and nightmares

Forever

Until he returned home again.