The smoke that drifts from candle’s wick,
Oft burns the eyes and nose.
The light now gone was bright and true,
Until the sylph arose.
The bell rests silent on the books,
Its toll and echo, gone.
Some thought its sound would certainly
Go on and on and on.
The fleshless skull, grotesque and stark,
Once heard and saw and spoke.
The timeless watch no longer ticks,
As lifeless as the smoke.
Bell, book and candle tell the tale,
The death toll from the bell,
The excommunicant’s heard sound,
Condemning him to hell.
The book now closed to separate
The soul from Holy Church,
Sent out to roam, to seek relief,
An endless, fruitless search.
The candle snuffed, the soul now gone,
Extinguished in its prime.
Condemned to Hades fiery heat
For everlasting time.
Gold trophy winner
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