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David McWilliams
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Epitaph
Fast as the day is winding down
the night dark as a river
a mist before my weary eyes
no saviour to deliver
an empty mask the easel stands
no painter's breath to help her
no priest to ease her solitude
no Christ to be her shelter
my tainted blood may serve as hate
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to those who live in waiting
unborn undead time murdered me
a child of her creating
time like a running tomb pursues
her whispers softly call me
awake me not my dreams are done
let sleep forgive my folly
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