I hope not to bleed for what I have loved and lost,
Tragic it would be to have never yearned at all,
I sit in my wintry grave, colder and colder still,
My demons dance at my death, the reaper has a ball.
What world was it that I left for pastures greener,
What claims did I abandon, for my heart’s pleasure,
An imprecation hangs over me, the night is darker still,
Shadows from a time lost, sulk and lament my unoriginal leisure.
Perhaps there was more to what I could have become,
Alas! Such is the nature of our souls, to ponder and wonder,
Life’s zest has been my biggest failing, a haunting quest,
Thoughts of a dreary life I wished to leave behind, still tear me asunder.
The Reaper stops smiling, eerie fingers beckon me away,
I wish to smile once more, I wish to live the right way,
I have left behind the truest, most noble adventure,
A home, a family and my life, for an impish whim that led me astray.
A passage opens up like a dream, a feather awaits my fate,
The Golden Jackal stands in the wind, gazing from afar,
This is my death, my judgement and my holy requiem,
I sigh. I look back. This is it. This is all we are.
