Timelessly Deep

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Tis no romanticism in death, for we are done!

Timelessly Deep

‘Tis not death that l fear,
But life, an’ all its perilous journeys,
An’ peoples within as they so appear,
Filled with concern, strife and earthly,
Worries of how their end shall come,
As to whether they shall see,
Truth an’ happiness arrive onto them,
Constantly filled with misery,

It has been so oft remarked,
Nor can l deny this to be true,
Fascinated with death l am like it is an art,
Addicted to it like opium pure,
‘Tis true that l write of it with pleasure,
With a sensual passion and of lust,
As others partake in sexual desires,
Seeing it with Gothic eyes of trust,

Should l hear the wail of the banshee,
I’ll know only too well that my time’s last,
And must walk into the darkened valley,
Shadowed by reapers sighing their craven cast,

Have seen the valley’s door many a time,
And fear not the tread way into the abyss,
Gladly and joyfully accepting the romantic entwine,
Of peace and eternal bliss,

Nay, it fills my head with no more dread,
Or misery of its grim undertaking,
And ‘tis wrong of others to accuse me morbid,
When my body and mind are aching,
Seeking answers of time that shall not be sought,
Nor found with any ease of the soul,
Yet constant is the thought,
That my spirit is to be again free and whole,

Again may l drift through midnight skies,
Comforting is that to my mind,
Whispering along with the breeze,
Searching endlessly throughout time,
And if my life is to end or it shall be taken,
Gratefully received shall the thought be,
And that maybe, it is for the best in making,
To achieve freedom from centuries of misery,

Nor, read unto your mind eyes,
And think nay maudlin towards me,
Written not to sincerely despise,
Penning my thoughts for others to see,
That this mind is so timelessly deep,
Yet will offer no resistance to death,
And awaits the endless graveside sleep,
Welcoming and accepting of her coldest breath.

© Rory Matier 2012

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