November 07, 2004
Sibelian
They do what tradition demands
The things that give them comfort
But for me, knowing that you no longer taste my tears
It is not enough to box and bury you
With black and prayers and platitudes.
And so, before they come
With slow tread and professional piety.
I have walked a black river of wind
To wait with you in this cold place.
Salt I have heaped upon your breast
And candles at your head and feet.
Light this the last of our togetherness.
Hypnotised by your stillness and the candle flames
I spin deep into the dark vortex that is in all of us.
Juste Judex ultionis
Donum fac remissionis
Ante diem rationis.
Lux aeterna luceat eis
Requiem aeternam dona eis
Et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis,
Voca me cum benedictis,
Oro supplex et acclinis.
The candles are dead.
The dish on your breast is empty.
There is a taste of salt upon my tongue.