Long Deathtime Poems
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Death is at your doorway, the reaper nears, cloaked in darkness,
His essence veiled. He knows your time is close at hand.
How now shall you meet Azrael? He is transported across the mortimer,
The sea of the dead, he has your name upon his list, he draws closer.
Quickly now whilst the choice is still yours, what shall it be? A peaceful sleep as
breath departs undisturbed?
Maybe suicide, the tablets left strewn upon the floor, as the grip of your dead fingers
cling still to the bottle?
Or do you chose fate, Let the book of the dead make the final entry of the last chapter,
that was once your life?
Carry with you the Asphodel, the pale yellow lily, food of the dead, for the banquet is
being prepared for you.
Libitina awaits to collect your corpse, the funeral procession she oversees, the world of
Hades awaits.
So tell me, which death do you chose? For the time is drawing near.
It's the end of my purposeful day,
a prostate being in prayer
with much sincere accord,
and my gratitude is not hurried away;
it is persistent in its allegory
already conceded...
Days don't last, time does
and the thought of eternity causes a frightening rush,
not to comprehend its depth
too concise not to discern it,
making many so compulsive to act in ignorance;
time was created to confer, not to condemn a wish...
Making a comparison between days
and time is truly necessary,
because they aren't commensurate,
they only obey a command; and we humans
act in deceit and don't commiserate,
allowing vanity to exude inclemency...
Frivolous with a frowzy attitude,
we put on a frippery image
to separate need from want,
to notice the differences and deny fortitude;
and shouldn't harmony and fairness begin with grace,
or it is another informal demeanor we impart?
Days don't last, time does...
and can a mortal, like me, pretend to be God
and defy death with his ostentatious ego and live?
Every human must die and be buried with others!
Are you any superior or have a greater knowledge,
to be excluded from a fate that is indomitable and savage?
He pulled the bed-clothes round him, as the voices began to talk, he placed both his hands
over his ears, that would shut them out, he thought.
Louder and louder they called to him, as he banged his hands against his head, he knew
what they wanted, "it's time now" they called "she's dead".
This always seemed to happen, 2 days later maybe 3, once the body began to stiffen the
voices would not let him be.
"Enough, I know, I hear you, I will go and fetch my sword, I know what I must do, masking
tape or curtain cord"?
He kissed her on the forehead, it was time for her to leave, "not much longer now my
darling, then your parents get to grieve"
He wrapped her in a carpet, tied off with masking tape, he struggled trying to move her,
"Damn girl your a dead weight"
He pulled her to the staircase, intending roll her down the stairs, but as he rolled her
over, out fell a shock of long blond hair.
He could never resist to touch her, her curls were silken soft, and as he bent to feel her
golden hair, his footing he had lost.
Head first he tumbled violently, his head bashed against the wall, the knife tucked in his
pocket impaled him in the fall.
He lay in a heap at the bottom, his gasps of pain poured out, he cried for some
assistance, but how, and who to shout?
He knew that he was dying, as his fading eyesight viewed the stairs, to think he'd meet
his maker for the sake of long blond hair.
SEE PART 3 FOR CONCLUSION