Death’s pure counterfeit,

In a horrid form,

Jerking and pursuing,

One to be forlorn.



Rampaging images

.

– among silhouettes of reality.

Placating iniquity

.

– amid white washed tombs.



No more! Screeched she,

.


The one with the vacant face and uncertain end

.

The one, indeed, without a friend.



For



Life’s foil

.

-should not be caught in the realms of nature’s breath.

Death’s fiend

.

–must not bow and sue for grace on suppliant knee.



But all will soon submit,

Even those of vacant face,

Consumed by solitude,

And inevitable fate.