No favourites does lacklustre death play
With equal fervour the doors
Of paupers and kings he strikes
Whether high or low
He does not care
At his summons
All must follow
To where their worldly status
Matters not
Only Tantalus,Sisyphus,Ixion
And their likes
Fear what lies below
Along with parricides and traitors
Those who thought themselves
Above divine law
Will find sentences condign
Eternally repetitive
As for the rest
Mere wraiths most will become
Pining
For what they have left behind
For some few
Consolation comes
With the brightness
Of the Blessed Isles,
Sweet Elysium
Categories:
parricides, death,
Form: Free verse