The scythe rings through the air.
Libera...
it glides, cutting up the smoke
...me, Domine...
it swishes, it rises up and falls down, heavily, as a sword
...de morte aeterna...
the mist lies parted on the ground.
...in die illa tremenda...
it rises again, sharply
...quando caeli movendi sunt...
silver, crisp and clear, sings in the damp cemetery air
...et terra...
the ropes holding the spirit down, fall to the ground, rotting and sweat-stained.
...dum veneris...
the tear-catcher shatters, dripping, splattering blood and tears like the consumption patient.
...iudicare saeculum per ignem.
one more swish of the scythe, a curved, surgical movement, cutting open the ancestral wounds.
Tremens factus sum ego...
phlegm, bile, poison, rot, complaints and regrets, jealousy, betrayals, anger, memory caving in under fear.
...et timeo...
the blade comes up again, blazing. its bone handle a staff of perfect ivory in the dark.
...dum discussio venerit...
the ribcage is open. heart, slowed down by poison of bitter, deadly nightshade - familial mistrust, trepidation and disbelief - is clouded by vapour of deep purplish magenta, suffocating in ivy leaves so thick and glossy they're almost unnaturally perfect.
...atque ventura ira.
ivy boughs cry out in agony under the blade.
Dies illa, dies irae...
they bleed, they writhe, they crawl back up...
...calamitatis et miseriae...
the blade finishes them, hunts them down, crushes them into mire and dust.
...dies magna et amara valde.
the rest of the poison is banished from the cavity. embalming fluid rushes in, sanitizing everything it touches.
Libera me, Domine...
deliver me,
my master...
deliver me...
Scythe works swiftly, the needle and thread patching up the clean edges of the flap.
That is the psychopomp at work, his medical kit ready, his blades sharp.
That is the one who walks the in-between.
Impavidus. Chalybs acutus. In vigilia.
Unafraid. Steel sharp. On guard.
Faustis ferris, dominus corvorum.
Blade bearer. Raven master.
Custos portae.
The gatekeeper.
Medicor mortuorum.
The healer of the dead.
Umbrarum viator.
The shadow walker.
Clavis principalis sepulcreti.
The skeleton key of the graveyard.
Solus in aeternum.
The one who's always alone.
I Imagine really being that gentleman about to enter the "sepulcretum" mentioned in the text of the liturgy. He recites the Latin words while thinking of the accompanying English phrases as If he were entering the mysterious graveyard at the start of your truely evocative piece of poetic prose and doing the difficult feat of double thinking in both languages.
I think this is great poetry. Thank you.