Death

I feel Death lurking near
like fog upon grey timeless shores
or deep into the luscious night,
a caress of the warm wind of West,
a whispered message from beyond.

Old rhymes dance with her in bedlam
Old rites to make 'em bid her welcome
Death takes home within thy chest
and we all dread against her vision
though desperate struggle, we die at best.

Heed, oh Seeker, the dreams and the signals
for Death comes glorious in a chariot
to harvest dear souls like peaches ripe,
chimes singing her song abyssal;
the flowers in her garden bloom by the myriad.