There is no scalpel edge, no well honed word
That cuts more deeply than incisive hate
So parting flesh unto it’s beating core
And marking scars to bear to heaven’s gate.
There is no venom that could poison so
Where but a single drop could legions raze;
No piercing eyes to run the very soul
As found within that vicious rapier gaze.
What demon now does your gaunt form possess
Where here I see the skull conform the skin,
Those bony fingers that the mace now grasps
Foul set to bludgeon with a fang gaped grin.
Would I have yet been blessed to see that curse,
Or more to heed, ‘for better or for worse’.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.