Come Bitter Tones

Come bitter tones and late the dark bones
Of the day shall soon have their fill
Of us. That during so dull a mystery
So rich uncertain sublime history,
And emptiness like a terrible joy
Come round and touch each hand—
Stubborn steadfast all tomorrows destroy
And lay the afterlife's Holy Land
Upon our face. A look that passes from
One generation to the next, the blessed dumb
Expression that holds flesh so still
It cannot rest.

© Ernest Slyman

(from Sauce*Box)