In Conclusion

The practitioner obscures a forgotten loss,
As the gravedigger covets memories past.
Trust in the doctor who numbs the wound
Supplies an artificial anodyne to the mind.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hollow be thy name.
Thy kingdom crumbled,
And earth cascaded from the heavens above.

Oh, Mother, why must we die
A thousand times before a lifetime expires?
So, when our ragged carnage rejoins you at last,
Souls are scattered in a million shards of regret.

The priestess who has cried aloud thirty-some last rites
Returns home, cold and silent, to her private respite.
An angel in the clouds lays down his haloed head
As a child in a humbled town resigns to his deathbed.