Death is the sweetest of calls.

[Keanumoreira]

Death is the sweetest of chanting calls,

The slumber of all ring through its halls.

In wake and in sleep, the pain of failure works hard,

The sweet call of death is the romantic of bards.

 

Unfed, and unloved, drained of all but a heart of black,

I see the trees, and the people, but I'd rather not go back.

She offers her hand, and without hesitation, I offer mine,

And in the final moments of life, we both entwine.

 

I have no regrets of taking up what she has proposed,

As in those hateful hours, she was my only, charcoaled rose.

I know now that no beg or plea could stop her in stall,

For the sound of death is the sweetest of chanting calls.