Gloathe

For the damned, I heard a crying ghost recite these Gothic love notes,
A mystery that holds form like vampiric clothes,
The night echoes silence,
A being relates the nuisance at the spilling of blood from pilgrims,
Beneath the cemetery bed,
Where darkness revokes lights embrace,
Two lovers take centre stage,
Corpses, but dead only to the mortals knowledge,
They live as love binds them through oath,
From ancient poetry they relate,
Solidify their bond through vocals they lost,
Eye contact lacks visual, as eyes are sand filled and drips of a liquid residual,
Far from spiritual as dirt returns to dirt,
Life forces damned to crawl beneath the living,
They wait for the moons full form,
Grow flesh for one night and roam the surface,
Collect memory enough before above the clouds the suns crept,
So he takes her hand in hers,
Beneath the haunting beauty of the starry skies,
Surrounded by fiends that find peace in the dark,
He places his lips upon the soft touch of his bride,
Silence grips even the loudest ghouls from the depth,
For this testament of love transcends the chains of death,
Unseen by mortal eyes, they lay in open fields of streams and wild flowers,
Spend a few hours like a century of truth passing through a vacuum of times sands,
He wipes her tears with his cheeks touch,
Whispers shakespearian ideologies to her dead heart,
He wins her love over and over again, and she holds his heart for the night once again,
They sit quietly above the mountains,
Look to the horizon as the moon sets behind them,
The suns rays kiss their skin, they embrace as the wind blows them into ashes back beneath the world of the living,
Hand in hand,
Until the next full moons out, they sleep.