Retribution

Even in death let me contemplate you Where you are in void sockets framed in bone The brain all dried out, my features unkwown In life or death before, weighted by you Even in death, I do not dream of you As being true, nor sorry that I'm gone While all your courtiers trample on my throne: The little world of dreams by which I view Them as maggots migrating through your pores And you moaning, a fragment on the shores Will fill the vacant vortex my soul soars - From death, for suff'ring love's spite without cures Cannot suffer yet again your disgiust When death too becomes tennant of your lust.