Poems

Through the black door,
an old friend greets us;
Now neither rich nor poor,
It is always thus.

All material things to forswear,
the dross to burn;
This the cost of a thing so fair,
everything else to spurn.

Through the black door,
we wait for those behind left;
Soon with them to soar,
Never more from them to be cleft.

What awaits we know not,
but together we will be;
Never to be forgot,
forever to be free.

 

In the end,
we all walk that last trail;
Around the bend,
all life and light to exhale.

Only one can walk this path some claim,
life through death to rise and ascend;
Taking only that with which we came,
in the end.

 

The death of sensation,
the life of cessation;
The stop preceded by the drop;
The final void of breath.

The sensation of life,
flowing to the gap;
The pulse of vigor,
falling with the vim.

 

Autumn,
is the beginning;
The last paragraph,
of the story’s end.

The last gasp,
before the sigh.
The dying of the light,
the evaporating of life.

Autumn,
is the story of the end;
The last note in the song,
All the brighter in the end.

 

Death is an old friend,
the closest friend,
any of us have.

He is there at the end,
when few are;
He is nary too far,
and nary too near.

Death is an old friend,
the first and last of these;
He is there for the first breath,
there for last.

The first breath a sound of shock,
a new friend met;
The last breath a sigh,
an old friend embraced.

 

It was the same again,
They still did not learn a thing.
The world went up in flames again,
and Death his joyful song would sing.


By excitement overwhelmed,
He had archived all that He needs,
Hate,suffering,His feist,
It was humanity that Feeds.

To there they run,
From there they run,
And throw themselves,
Straight into Hell,

Try to break loose,
From His embrace,
Run in His arms,
Not Him they face.

To Him they ran,
To Him they fell,
With more to come,
Since they can’t tell.

They did all,He could ask for,
And satisfied He sat to rest,
Again they did not learn a thing,
Again they did not pass the test.

The song of blood,the sight of screams,
The world went dark,consumed by fire,
For this was all He ever dreamed,
For this fed all His strong desire.

Once again they need the Purge,
Like to forget,what it all means,
Rebuild and crush the lust for blood,
In repeated,shady scenes

For they forget how much it hurts,
How much out of their hearts it tore,
How much it burns their paltry minds,
As they begin another war.