A Valley Of Dead Mice (Beauty In Death) Poem by Silas Rosalie Dumont

The glass throne sits empty in this dark hour
Just as well, it would shatter anyway
But whom then shall command me through this haze
The foggy tendrils of smoke do encase
My heart of stone, by the Gorgons touched
Smile down upon me, o gods of old
Smile sadistically as inward I fold!
Grin ear to ear as I flounder and die
To your lushly chorded soundtrack, composed
By anguish absent from a hollow face
Tremolo starts on the faintest of hearts
As arpeggios arch overhead
Swooping arabesques in churches of old
Cannot match the beauteous majesty
Of these supremely sublime mechanics
Like gargoyles the fermatas adorn
A pizzicato's glorious crown of thorns
I lay here bleeding on this cold hard ground
Before the crystalline towers of fate
From which there reigns the absentee monarch
Who revels in the dramatic cadence
Of the virtuosic cadenza's roll
In the cavernous valley that I will
Look upon one final fleeting time
And the crescendo softly envelops
My corpse as it lifts to the cloudless sky
Then last seen at the final sforzando
Decrescendo through the coda at peace
Laid to rest in a horse's empty stall
For once I am beautiful. Double bar.