"Throne" (a poem)

What color is your throne?

As bleeding rats move reliquaries,

to entice the wind with chimes and bones, 

and move us past the cemetery gates...

Are we now awake?

Or still encased in glass,

with tinted glow-light moving past,

dried dead skin and empty veins-

though stained glass windows broken pane.

Sepulchre holds your sceptre's grace,

and shines eclipses upon a wounded face,

with weathered eye's of solid stone.

That gaze at empty scrolls and broken relic's-

shard's of skull and tortured edicts...

As the dust of souls moves-

down an altar stairway

past curtain's veil and statuary,

to secret crypt's and chambers,

whose eternal nameless moans.

Through torches gasping breathe 

light dark epiphanies of death!

Uncloaked now!- immortal sin, 

let Heaven's Hell begin--

And only now reveals the color of your THRONE!!!!!