Inconsistencies

This is the place of the dead wrapped in granite. 

I slumber on in silence alongside. 

The sky is wreathed in clouded shade

Like the grim mask of death

Where I long to rest. I fell into

The tranquil step of time, the hateful casement. 

The ice of the wind defeats me. 

I am granite like the rest. 

The fire in the belly is consuming, 

My bones, whitewashed and silent, quiet. 

Only my mouth betrays my scream. 

Opportune dialect of death

In the sea of Babel. 

They heard it, these icy denizens

That haunt the stones of pain and remorse. 

Their mouths cry out too,

Drunken in longing. 

I drink in the darkness hungrily. 

Cold envelopes and embraces me. Demons kiss away my faults.

The wheel turns on, crushing bones beneath

Its heavy, stony lust.  

This is hell among the living. 

The wind stoppers and stutters

In its song of life-bringing death. 

The seas rush in to break down granite

Towers of the daylight dead

And the sameness carries on as eons

Do, searing and rotting the flesh. 

The anchor of another likeness

Is tossed into the wind-swept bay. 

It electrifies me, this current of death. 

A black clad angel floats by 

In graceless waves of remorse and fatigue. 

This is a city of broken angels. 

Phantoms cloaked in sin and devastation. 

The barrooms are full of broken hearts. 

Here are the doctors to wake me,

To make me real once more. 

Shocking me upon a system of heated inconsistencies. 

I am reborn. Life among the deathless.