Obsidian
Here the dark hangs like ancient tapestries
The dank rot of old woven wishes
Fill nostrils with a stench of onyx air
Mortar seeps like tar from barren stone
Jagged black teeth to scar the granite
A throne room for the evil deeds
The boney and broken lay about
Muslin wrapped choices in wake
We celebrate the tragic sins in faith
Charred ghosts build a personal pyre
Ashen remnants of our unspoken truth
Yet the ringing cold is never beheaded
The silence shouts to the sticky floor
Where blood and soil feed twisted roots
Wrapped in beaded rosaries and lies
Curse the light with demonic hymn
Kiss the Stygian heat so well-earned
Suffer petulance more than prayer
Here the long years dance devilish
Soul crucified in exquisite ebony pain
And death is seen as caliginous freedom
commonsensiblyspeaking 
Filled with horror story and wonderfully written
Thanks , Beth!
This is a very sad piece but also brilliantly written Brad, I really enjoyed reading this. There’s a lot of dark days hidden in time, hidden in cloth, we don’t recognize or don’t want to. Really nicely done great writing. Big hugs, Jonikins ❤️
Thanks, Jonikins!
I could almost understand “caliginous” by context but I had to look it. It seems like you have an unfair advantage over other writers and poets if you know more words than they do!
Thanks, Geoff! I do not think of it as being unfair, and to be honest, I am not sure it is a huge advantage.
I guess it is not unfair as you have earned that advantage!