Death Eternal

As life itself, with access through all gates,
so too, there is no rhyme for our dark friend.

Death rose as an equal, eternal;
foreboding belligerence to all.


On roads where feet are tread to bone,
(the mar of wastelands trudged alone)
we'd rather never have to meet,
death, that bastard, warring woe;
so callous in his ways,
that all find swift defeat.

The raven's claws, the hellhound’s bark
shall beg beneath e'er silently.
Though like a thief's ignited spark
such lightning arc's reach wantonly.



Written 2012-01-03, © J. Dobbins

Entered into a competition:
deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/3639/