Arboreal hexen

 the skeleton hands reach high in the sky

conjuring the time of the southern sun

to bid remind the calling of maggots

in the cadaveric corridors they hail from

to call forth the holding of breath

the pinching of pulse, the freezing green

that burns to blacken soot and withers gray

the ethereal remains tattered in the day

those hands rattle their charms in the nights

when blood red Mars in vengeful scorn

tears feathers from Mercury's wings

and casts them to the chilling ground

while Venus winks in morning calm

the great deceiver, he sings his song

that here is peace, here is rest

within his silent hollow chest

yet the children tear their eyes

from their sockets so they are blind

to see the knife at cattle throats

the heart that bleeds is the one that feeds

yet they use the very forks they feast with

to gouge their eyes and play the ignorance card

at a game no one in earthly robes ever wins

the skeleton hands clamber still

through howling winds and exhaustive frost

they waxen cold and drain their gold

into buried stores where yielding worms wait

for pooling regrets of graveside confessions

and for the ladies and gents they have yet to greet