An Heir To Thievery Poem by Eric Cunningham

Lie down with these widows ov black
My caution keeps me well from harm
But a corpse decayed in a burial vault; not my own
But a body pulled from its crypt; pillaged for jewelry and gold
And left exposed after I’m gone
Another grave robbed before dawn should frown the way dead legends spelled
That doom shall deny the cenotaphs ov thieves as cold and cruel as this
Whom rip the necklaces from necks
Every thread about me speaks ov wealth, at night I slink with blade in hand
A different being, a dangerous lust to exhume the fallen from their sleep
And corrupt the corpse as maggots watch
Come sin with me in my thievery this night as huntsmen scour the grounds
Ov this wretched church ov ancient craft
I’ve pulled the forms ov lifeless priests; pelted by rain
Enmisted tombs, ups under for their jewels and rings
The barking hounds, my numb-ed fingers aglow with preternatural lust
Two platinum rings, diamonds and pearls and gold awash with rainfall such
And moonlit howls
In guile moved as swiftly and silently as I came
But another grave deeper I’ve dug, and how my pockets brim with change.