Look at this tangle of thorns........

In Death Thou Art My Waning Moon

In casket and soil lucid souls doth keep,

And trace two melodies e'er untamed,

For He is not one to comprehend sleep,

Or the wretched stones in which we lay named.

And o'er my head is a woeful deal,

And He cackles with Reaper's wretched grace,

"'Tis the souls of one thousand men to steal,

Should you wish to see Lover's deathless face."

Illusion hath torn you away from my wake,

Clutching my crux I did dreadfully slay,

A thousand souls minus one I did take,

He takes you, Time hath no faith of delay.

Alone in my sorrow, locked in abyss,

Hell hath no collision, none like your kiss.

By the Ragdolly Riddler