It comes then; those black wings beating
and that wicked thing breathing hard
like a bloated child in a fog;
Like a ballooning bullfrog in a thicket
in and out.
Not as loud as death ought to be, I thought
but then again,
in moonlight everything seems like velvet vines;
like a lover's skinny fingers growing out of the ground -
The wretch will name me then
aloud from a book bound with paper skin,
and in it's time will weigh my sin; and I will wonder
if my dreams are added up against that weight -
or if the rest of me ever
meant anything at all.
It will raise my head to a gold sky,
and on the course I raise and pass
heavenly eyes that know my time is up;
the ticking of my clock has resigned.
deo volente consummatum est
It is finished.
Among that blessed harmony
God's hands I abandon;
remove a testament to prowess,
take the burden we all journey towards
since we stepped out the Garden's gate.
Upon a cloud in paradise, I attest
"I am Lazarus. My soul upon the pedestal,
without form or holy grace, I am him who returns
and brings light upon the dark and empty;
my fate is my own and my will
is my destiny."