Even Death is Weary
Even death is weary to prostration,
Even hell is battered and bereft,
Even to a point of enervation,
Death sings out for mercy from the heft.
Such a weight of souls beyond repairing!
Such an endless travesty of pain,
Such a raucous chorus of despairing,
Death sings out at conflict borne in vain.
Witnessing the spiral to perdition,
Witnessing the cycle of despair,
Witnessing the mindless repetition,
Death sings out his tender hearted care.
Paralysed in patterns of derision,
Paralysed in judgements of foul play,
Paralysed to write a new revision,
Death sings out at doom that won’t delay.
Stricken in a fantasy of bloodshed,
Stricken in the binding of a curse,
Stricken in a terrifying deathbed,
Death sings out at warfare getting worse.
Destitute of some alleviation,
Destitute of some pacific might,
Destitute in further vitiation,
Death sings out for solace at the sight.
adamdaniel 