Death

Death --
more plenteous than all heaven
has tears to mourn it.
The slow dissolving of the great design.
The spiraling apart of the work of eternity.
The world and its beautiful particle logic,
all collapsed, all dead
forever.
We are failing,
failing --
The earth and the angels.

Who asks of the Order's blessing
with apocalypse descending?
Who demands more Life
when Death, like a protector,
blinds our eyes,
shielding from tender nerve
more horror than can be borne?
Let any being on whom Fortune smiles
creep away to death
before that last, dreadful daybreak
when all your ravaging returns to you,
and morning blisters crimson
and bears all life away.
A tidal wave of protean fire
that curls around the planet
and bares the earth,
clean as bone.