The Skull

Black holes
Round as bowls
Of velvet night
But lacking any gleam
Of starlight. White
Skull just a weathered
Chalky stone
Of bone.
Empty sockets
Windows to a soul
Set free – the living candle snuffed
By shell
His body now
The stuff of stars
As here on Earth
The living and
The dead
Descend through circles
All designed by Mars
To Hell.

© Richard Lindsay 2015

Background to the poem ‘The Skull’