This is it. This is all we are.

 

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.