The Interruption of Death Speaking

What was said by death, I shall write in a mystery. And full of trouble as a shadow, such as one. And clean thing our of the number of his. He cannot pass for his will spout again the root there of. Yet through but man where is he. Gird up a answer; Declare if thou can, for the overflowing rain on the man. the tender herbs, The drop of Heaven frost. Who face the prayer before the all? Men cast children of men neighbors they do speak proud things. For our own lips lord over us. I rise puffed as his words, Seven times preserve them of men are exalted, Such as now caught hands made swimming, old hearts their dirty emptiness, For I alone know shame, Meading the broken laughter and that enemy call man. who with all tears do sing with safety tears and mirth, throwing gained peace for war for secrets and lost the poor do die. morning and freedom safety shall be endeavour against all freedom. that unholy thing men call age, The rare gift is Death, seeker do you know who am I, I alone stop writing to speak and to say. desire come into our love and pain, wager against the rich and poor, I do know the shade of you. Death speak again. These laid the world away, their sons has made me rich outta nothing. Cain first act, without his murder his brother I alone was nothing, but now through the acts of men I alone am rich. Wash Marvllously with movement and of wonder set alone. Changing all the days, Gathered the night light as my wife, I am alone no more. The frost of men gesture a white unbroken peace. The sunset and the dawn both greet to meet my coming, laugh now old seeker of souls, YAH eternal writer, Shout now dust concealed breathing all evil of an eternal mind. Pause back old happy dreams that has giving this to me. But i the seeker of souls did speak to say, If i die give somewhere back the damned quick cold hard thinking of an heartache, for our father YAH our Elohim and His son Yeshua our Messiah has promise to take back those souls you think to be your. Death speak again saying, I forgot you, I remember you the retch turn of last years woes, To choose as nausea belly, if only my fancy made sharp pain to tortured as whispering spacious line, stop talking to me you old writer of woes, stop coming forth you eternal writer of the most high, But perceive in blindness and of rhyme, Odorous certain serene who dare to know me. Then Death stop talking and I alone stop writing to place my pen down.

Copyright © Ronald Campbell | Year Posted 2019

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