Fell The Keep

When the gallows are all empty,
at our castle in the air,
will we be pardoned then?
A king of spades,
A queen of hearts,
a court of paltry fools;
we hung our visions
from nettle binding until
only osteal remained,
silhouetted in the sunrise
as much as our reverence.
Inhume us then,
deepest yet,
into the catacombs,
and leave with us
only our nepenthean dreams
that our shame might rest
that love might find us
in our next life,
if we are not
the bane of Elpis yet.