Tales Of Dark

Forced to endure throughout our pestilence,
As the gift of life turns to curse
From the confines of sepulchres
Voices for vengeance cry.
Souls flit about their desolate tombs
The unborn smell death in the wombs
Still, we warble of the light to come
Yet hope faids as the dark prevails.
The endless chantings discordant now stand
As we ourselves with prayers blind,
Words of salvation and comfort known are not.
Is there but no light to shine upon,
Can there be no light which shadow will not make?
The depth to which the gory scars go suits
The length of time in which they do not heal.