Death In The Morgue

Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe – John Donne, Holy Sonnets (X).

I walked into the shadow of your life, Death,

I stared into your eyes, blackness of death

I smelt the dankness of your breath

I felt the coldness of your touch

Death, I stared you in the face

Awash with blackness you awoke my slumber

In the cold fastness of the void

Another one you claimed of our race

Blasting my face with your talons of slaughter

Arising in the abyss, visions of the devil and daughter

The stench of death embraced my body

And tore from it the shreds of fear

Battles fought as above, so below

Yet you take warriors in pain

Are you so vain that you claim victory

In the blood of those that denied you so?

I left the love of one in your arms

You took him to your valleys and your farms

Deep in the mountainous recesses of your craft

You covered him in the blinding gale of grave drafts

In the midst of mankind’s victory, you made me question

What of life, and what of us when we are gone?

Our bones, our skin and our thoughts, they die as one

In this land where there will be no sun

Deep and dark, the dungeons of your heart

Stank of those you’ve taken

Left them to lie in slumber to never awaken

As the lives of all those around darken

Yet I don’t fear you, I feel you all around me

You touch me with your dark embrace

You hold me and I touch reality

Tell me, what’s for eternity?

Pray, then I to you

Take them in dignity

As above, so below

Don’t the dead too deserve serenity?

Your touch can be cold yet handsome

Your embrace can bring pain yet heal

Your name can bring fear yet smile

Your heart can be dead yet live.

Be not proud, for you cannot win

The human soul ascends beyond where you reach

No hurt from you can suffocate what good men preach

And as you take us from below, know that we shall be above.