At the Abyss

By Elvira

Go,                   and                  Count               my
jewels —
as I see                                    HIS angels.
Mortal man                             thinks only for
Comfort
the Soul be DAMNED
Feel no pain, I see
only the light of ?
Words spoken                         by faceless ones:
Words of concern
(others, silent because they Hate.)

Is my grave ready?     Or, like mere
subjects           be confined in
butter boxes.
I’ll not care.
Darkness:

Soothing
the Light disappearing
I’ll recover,
after all
‘Tis       a pity, the Malcontents
Say.

June 2015