Weeping Blood
The living walls were weeping blood,
And fever marked our breathless poise,
So many bones sunk in the mud,
From burning hate in booming noise.
The spiral into blacker time,
The woeful concrete pall that hangs,
The silent scream a steady rhyme,
Such hurtful fate in bitter pangs.
But once You cherished our embrace,
Such guileless spirits, lost in play,
The joie de vivre on Your face,
The timeless tenor of the day.
The bright horizon, silken nights,
The sand of time an endless store,
The king of kings at peerless heights,
Awake upon our earthly shore.
And every shape a statue formed,
An ornament unto Your name,
Beside Your fire softly warmed—
Effulgent in Your holy flame.
But, to memory it flies,
Away into the winds of chance,
Such happy thoughts, like lullabies,
In reverie for lost romance.
Again — the marching horror show,
The struggle to recapture time,
The paroxysmal heights of woe,
From happiness to pain sublime.
ADL
adamdaniel 