The Belfry Poem by Agatha Eliza

The chapel of the dead-

the belfry!

silent whispers carried

by the wind,

as suppressed shrieks of

mourning grief,

wrapped in stolen dreams!



Their bones are resting

in the graveyard;

ages pass..and

yet still pass!

until the bitter scythe

dissects the

veins of mighty Time!



In the boiling swamp of

unearthly senses,

they plot their lust

for life-

either to feel the glee

when spring begins,

or alter

with the cosmic night!