Afterglow

When the existential magic disappears And life holds nothing more than my terrestrial tears and frivolous fears When feeding my mind is no longer empirical Or essential, as human hunger suffices, when I no longer thirst, and eminence gives no rise, and sullen shibumi canopies worn and torn shade not the arid and hot desert, once the lofty snow summits forthwith cloaked in thawing toxins Or the ruby rose that does not scent me, reminiscently as its thorns prick crimson numbness Tasteless is the blood from this warrior’s sword And Lords with rattles of snakes poison less Horns no longer adorn me, my ashes freed I’ve heard of a hall of the slain, where dead heroes reign When our world gives way to the next Where golden shields a palatial fortress Take one more fallen warrioress, to other realms, plush, pristine, called Valhalla, an afterglow