The end game

There shall be no mournful dirge nor incandescent sad pyre
Nor salutations ringing out for me
Nor incantations mouthed by some black robed imbued liar
For who amongst you would possess his fee

No accolades nor epitaphs extolling my virtues
Indeed no stone in scripted do I need
My realm be one ethereal as to myself I remain ere true
My hell this earth my crucifix to bleed

I fear no ghoulish demons guarding Dante's gates of hell
Nor fire and brimstone in eternal flame
Nor shall I bow my head as I await the tolling bell
Nor would I seek of other souls to blame

My mantra grew of suffering, my end my destiny
My path one of a multi shaded fate
My essence be one of a soul bereft of honesty
My hell on earth the key to heavens gate.
Brendan.




Poetry by Brendan Finbarr Tully
Read 675 times
Written on 2005-10-26 at 12:57

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penfold18
Sad words to take on the final path made me think of my own mortality, a thoughtful piece brendan.
2005-10-26