Classic Poem

My heart grew ice because of that grim head,
Red sparking eyes alert for pounce or flight,
Features miscarven by strange appetite,
Till kinship with the Elohim was dead,
And kestrel, snake and rat were in their stead,
Glaring through eyeholes that let in no light,
Slinking through corridors made black as night,
The paths the heavenly hierarchies should tread.
A company of starry ones without
That midnight wait on the lost wanderer,
The hero whom these demon things immure.
The shining ones make answer to my doubt,
“Our Lord is buried in this sepulchre.
We wait His resurrection. It is sure!”