Absolute Virgin

When we have lost our bodies and our breath,

The rest that follows is beyond control

Since even wills are only paper.  Death

Reigns mighty like infernal night, North Pole

Unceasing like the deepest cold in hell

Of Dante.  This extinction waits serene.

We cannot appeal.  A cast-by-devils spell

Is far less total.  Death is scraped down, clean

Of everything like love and hope:  that hour

Is ever, always, endless, harsh.  Endure

It?  It is far beyond endurance.  Power

Like death’s is utter, soulless, strictly pure.

  This virgin has her legs crossed, you inside

    That grave.  There’s nowhere slick where you can slide.

~ Phillip Whidden