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