Death Sings Its Song
Death sings its boisterous song to me
Proudly placing itself as the ruler
Of everything created by the maker
Death sings and kills me softly!
Why, unable to fall for anything else
Other than that which has been fated
For me, I remain, alive and unsatiated
Relying on Death for a blossomed release!
Death sings and pulls my soul closer to it
Readily, willingly, knowing that it shall win
While I will be snatched of my mortal skin
And deprived of any of my remaining wit!
Faced with it, I can only kneel,
In agonising pain,
Filled with tormented disdain
Why, pretending to be made of steel
Is certainly not a task for a frail hearted poet
I'd rather lose myself in Inexistence
Regardless of how, then, life would dance,
As, it would seem that I have already lost the bet!
Pray, I choose to sit and cry in lauded religious books
Hoping to be noticed by the God of all mankind
Hoping then, that He might scrap me off life's line
Since Death is already the greatest of its monarchs!
18 August 2019
Writing Challenge 2, August 2019- Enclosed Rhyme
Sponsor, Dear Heart
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