When dark Chanticleer’s rumbling midnight chime,
Awakens keen ears to a world of rhyme.
When opulent feasts and light follies depart,
Leaving Dante’s dark bow drawn deadly, drawn sharp.

Then shall white clouds descend into day,
Then shall white clouds darken our way.
Then shall red furies, demons and dust,
Swirl fearfully before us in twists of distrust.

Sharp diamond snowflakes, now drenched in blood,
Potent hot waters, threaten a flood.
Shivering angels have fearfully fled,
Chased by icicle daggers, rusty and red,
Daggers we meet when we meet with the dead. 

We breathe.  We freeze.  One of us faints.
The pious among us, shudder and turn,
Seeking salvation lest they must burn.

Suddenly, on golden chariots all aglow,
Warring ministers arrive to strangely bestow,
Razor-like jewels in ruby red gowns,
Exposing long-silent, hushed deadly frowns.

Morning emerges through trembling talons,
Skillful at healing thin feverish skin.
It is morning now, and now worn thin.

Church, temple and mosque, and their cloistered few,
Hasten to escape to the innermost pew.
Gypsies, Romans, the wandering Jew,
Embroider together and seek to renew,
Lonely love lost, in a field of hate,
A barren field full of waste. 

Searching souls now divine, 
No more lust and no more wine. 
Searching souls now greet their fate,
Dust engulfs them at heaven’s cold gate.
The pitiless souls, they asked too much,
And now hurriedly flee from the cold hallowed clutch.