There will be no tomb

There will be no tomb

Hands clasped

In an endless unbroken token

Of affection

Lying side by side

As in life together

Ashes mixed with ashes

Compostable remains

Formless spirits

Set, to sally forth

If faith is to be believed

Spiritual healers rich in voice

As silken as the lining of their pockets

Filled to the brim

With fools gold

Freely given

To steal a march for every soul

If only we would let them

What would I give but one fig

For the prospect of forgiveness

When for the life of me

I have lived my best

Even when I am forsaken

Of the promise

Of a spiritual reawakening

By the words of a carpetbagger

Selling snake-oil

Charming the savings of old ladies

Preying on their grieving

The fear they have of leaving

Without hope of resurrection

Give them peace

Let them see themselves

As others see them

Victims of a falsehood

Given testament without virtue

So many goodly folk

Clad in hairshirts

Waiting for release

Hoping to return

To something more than dust

Stone cold hands

Reaching out

Holding on for dear life

To the prospect of another

When all is said

As the flames die down

What is there left to bind us

But a shred of blind faith

And a spirit of adventure