These dead men never render Faust or fade
where only white worm maggots burrow bold.
Intolerant no more of colored shade
while wrapped in raiment silk of amber gold.
No mountain of Olympus are these dead,
they crave no more the master masks once worn;
for they have found forever's fertile bed,
Oblivion, and cannot feel the scorn.
A cradled black sarcophagus dug deep
for alabaster bones eternally -
no angel trumpets blown for their long sleep
will raise decay up unexpectedly.
Their sins are made immaculate in death;
yet still offended men can taste their breath.
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by Tom Mcmurray
These dead men never render Faust or fade
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Intolerant no more of colored shade
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Poetry: Sonnets
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