Death Alone Poem by James McLain

Amongst the throngs death has parlayed,
I must pay attention fine lovely art.
In ancient times a cold stone morgue it usually was.
Not cold marble steps ascending into.
Busy the few masking faces mother's to.

Marketing death a wife there confessing your sins.
I thought of the children we knew.
A father his daughter her son going off to war.
I am he, she is he the trustworthy mother to all.
How ever wealthy some are the rest aren't.

Ancient cultures captured the light of mons Venus.
The red spot in the sky it is Mars.
In the winter one evening star, two planets are.
A cross forms the X where people stand.
Twenty two degrees at right angles on the solstice.