The Ringing of a Bell at 6 Noon

I’ve seen glimmers, perhaps it was the sheen off a sheet?
And heard the solemn accord for the dead and their whiles
Blessed with the strum of the string that into nullity
Became the avant-gardes for another world.

With the ringing of the death knoll the harp and maiden were brought to crime
Beyond the foreshadowing of glory, doom, spite and pride, and envy
Of the rise and set of the moon,
Red and pale against the sullen portrait of a night sky from many ages ago
Lost to the depth of status only one sense was left to that hound
Who looked up perhaps a little too shallow in a very narrow hole
With a setting moon; precious depraved wondrous mad,
And yet it is the tale that Alice was committed to.

Perhaps the shock of a wave is proof that by and by life with its masquerade
Has made a dune on an ocean shore, deep within its labyrinth
That it be born and then die in the same afternoon an incessant quest in equanimity
And that it live against its purpose proof of an unverifiable thing,
That time is human, humble in all but substance.