by Steve Tanham
The Last Tailor
—
The clothes he wears are not his own
They dressed the flesh to suit the dead
With colours picked from nature’s prime
And perfumes rare that round his head
Entwine a crown of rule and law
In broken pieces whispering of a thread
——-
The white ones came and spun the rope
That covered tailored blood and green
And in his eyes they painted death
To cover tracks of life unseen
Protecting deep and final rest
And shielding paths where none had been
——-
And down this thread his life was passed
To draw all those whose time conveyed
That he might witness love or lack
And, bloodless till all life was weighed
Become the place to which we pass
His breath the stone on which our life’s displayed
——-
Each day our footsteps nearer tread
Unto that chamber where he dwells
In perfect silence now – his inner garb
Awaiting time when scales meet shells
And there will hold and cherish hearts
One life not death revealed in deepest wells
—
©Copyright Stephen Tanham, 2015
Base Osiris image from Wikipedia
Sun in Gemini 
Reblogged this on Anita & Jaye Dawes.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on Daily Echo.
LikeLike