Song of death - a poem in memory of the passengers and crew on Flight 370

The black bird of death sang its  hellish tune 
And the thunder rolled its clapping  wing into the seared soul   And the gates of hell smiled as the  devil paid the toll, for even the  greatest sinner must pay the  gatekeeper,  

And the black flowers of winter  spat at the suckling bird, 
and the  trees of night dropped their branches to all but the raven 

The black bird of death recounted  its' name for the children of mercy,  and disease led the way up the  path to the village graveyard 
Mercy to the souls lying in their  tombs,  For the night owl does cast his  look upon the scattered bones of  death, and the rabbit does build  tunnels through which the dead  choke 
Mercy to the souls that reach the  gates of hell, and dry are the tears  of men that pay their ugly dues 
Mercy to all those who must  struggle up the hills and shed their skin to paint the cutting stones a  bloodied hue 
Mercy to the gatekeeper who lines  his pockets with golden sheckles,  whilst the skeletons of youth rip  open their hearts and bleed on  natures door 
As that must be closed to seal in  the decaying bones of tombs, so  must that be opened to let free the  spreading cries of truth 
Hail to the shredded man who  must paint the stones of red 
Hail to the doors of nature that  spring forth to let the musty  screams of winter mix with the  sweetened song of spring 
Hail to the raven who must fly to  winters call and remove his talons to give space to the sparrow 

Hail to the gatekeeper who  decorates his ironed fists with the  flowers of dawn and the green  leaves of the vineyard 
Hail to all whose lips have bled the  song of death