No Title for Death

In shadows deep, where thoughts do flee, The mortician’s hand doth lay on me. To rest, to sleep, no longer sane, In death’s embrace, I now remain.

A scream within, a silent cry, As pale as death, as cold as night. My form he checks, with careful ease, A ghastly dance, a grim disease.

With bath and song, a mournful tune, He tends to me beneath the moon. Two hands of strength, with skill and grace, Set my visage, in death’s embrace.

Arterial flow, a crimson tide, Drains away, where secrets hide. The hollow core, where souls decay, Is purged and cleansed, in grim array.

The hum of death, a ceaseless sound, As flames of desire doth surround. With final breath, I shed my skin, To face the void, to face within.

And in that moment, once again, I ponder choice, in death’s domain. To linger still, or flee the night, In death’s passages, eternal flight.