by Pavel Chichikov
I am dead, no one can hurt the dead
Let me be moveless with You, nor feel dread
I want blind warmth, no eye sore light I crave,
Black body radiation is my sightless love
I will not be eye tasked by You, or do You more,
I'll go no further with You than this corridor
Which has no corner I must frightened, turn –
Give me the consolation that I did not earn
But now, He told me, stir and I will set you more –
When you beheld My agony on Golgotha
You left where I unbreathed Myself two burning candles
Near the Cross, beside my blood thick sandals
Move them to the altar that I set
That marble dinner table and unmortal rest,
For there the lights belong, the flowing, burning wax –
Take the candles where you found them, bring them back
It is such simple work that you the dead perform,
They have a place to be, My stiffened wounds to warm,
The veins are stiff, My precious blood is night congealed –
Move the candles for Me, for My wounds are sealed
Move them, take them, one hand hold one
For I must bleed this time again – dead warm My wounds
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
