The Moppet Mound

Pale, the moon. A death-white bloom
impaled on leafless limbs;
neon blood drips nacreous runes
upon a silver'd scrim.

Overgrown. A sculptured stone
leans cracked and lichen-crowned;
moss drapes, obscures, a chiseled tome
to traipse a moppet mound.

Child, entombed. A spark consumed
by Death before its birth;
a nadir'd sleep of life-presumed,
tear-deep in bitter earth.

Faith suborned. A poisoned thorn
that stabs God in His eye;
a mother screams, prostrate to mourn
another dream that died.

Pale, the moon - her arms - her womb,
from neon bloodstains on Emptiness.