The Inglorious Dead

How could I not be surprised

As death before my eyes rose

Filling my face with a gloomy light

The dark lord appears only by night.

Be not afraid, he cries to the dead

Wait for my scythe to deliver me your head

A subtle move, so gentle and smooth

And off with the head, the inglorious dead.

So sour

The smell of rotting corpses and foul souls

Twisting in the air

Despair, condensed with the tears

All those poor ones cried so greatly

As Death came to serve its duty.

I promised not to fear

Though I’m not the dead he talked to

I’m a living soul, with a mind so clear

I have only one wish, and it is to grow old

But just in case Death decides other

My mistakes be all judged

Just to create as an outcome

A punishment to bare forever

I want to rest my body under the grieving earth

But my soul must awake my essence

And make you feel my presence

To haunt your life is what I yearn for

But I must wait till Death knocks on my door.

I told him my story he beforehand knew

I shared with him all my requests about you

He takes no notice, he just wants my head

And with one quick glance, he slices my throat,

Rips out my heart

Cracks open the ground

My body tombs down,

Myself as a cloud left to haunt my crowd

I’m just a lost soul, a burden you will bare.

Your smell, in the air

The scent makes me ravenous

I begin to despair, as it becomes hazardous

But I have no lungs to breathe

No nerves to feel

How to know if this is real?

I finally come to an ironic peace

And find where you are, with Death by my side

You sense I’m near, and with great fear

You search for somewhere safe to hide

You run inside

Frightened, to Death.

Be not afraid, I cry to the dead

I grab the scythe and relish your head

With a subtle move of pleasure and regret

And off with her head, the inglorious dead!