Shrouded in Black

Shrouded in Black               April 26, 2006 (Revised October 6, 2013)

'Tis a mystery to you,
For this, I know well.
You cannot comprehend
What is declared "Divine,"
Or why I must stand,
Adorned in this black,
Whilst the devil is always
On the attack. 

Mother always asks
If I read The Bible,
Yet I always say, "Nay,
 But I know the parables."
The Jews seemed cruel,
'Tis difficult to fathom their place
As the chosen people
Bequeathed of God's Grace.
A carpenter once spake
About casting the first stone.
I s'pose I am a meshugge
To those wearing a yamulke.
Yet I also feel sullen
Towards the Christian lot:

The greatest hypocrites of all,
Rendering them helpless
To Hell's soot!

Will I reach Heaven? 

'Tis difficult to say,
But according to Luther,
I shall push boulders each day. 

Each day is a funeral,
Can you not see?
 Life slips each tick further,
And when it is time to depart,
You shall not know:
And can you be certain
Where you will go?
There are so many questions
And so much despair --
So little time,
And I, sans a care!

I said a prayer for my salvation,
Yet, I still am required an appendage.
I fail to meet their demands,
And feel the burden of His Wrath.
Everyday is yet another in a long line,
A world contradictory,
And hypocritically-maligned.
Perhaps Hell is my destination,
One I prefer, lest I am judged harshly,
And yet, no one concurs.

'Tis always a funeral in life;
'Tis always a funeral for me.
'Tis one each day, here for you,
Yet you turn your eye deftly,
And one day, you shall see clearly
As Wrath's tentacles shall grasp
Your jugular even whilst dead,
Never the final breath to be the last!
Prepare you must, my fellow man,
For the Hell's Great Beyond:
For when the Black Veil is worn,
And the wool pull'd o'er your eyes!