The Empty Shell

Beneath the oak trees 'round my tomb,
Inside the Sacred Mother's womb,
Beside the sordid sister's call,
Hallowed by the will of all,
I see the Empty Shell.

A seed unplanted, stripped and bare,
A child ne'er to breathe the air,
Familiar forlorn horns of hope,
Lost beneath the peddler's dope,
I see the Empty Shell.

A curious magician's trunk,
Filled with all his useless junk,
A top hat pulled from underneath
His cape, with fingers of the thief,
I see the Empty Shell.

Leaves across my open grave,
I am the autumn's brilliant slave,
Aristocrat, née Plato's form,
Those that keep the dead so warm,
I am the Empty Shell.