Rigor Mortis

I lie limbs askew
The black skies above me
A bell sounding in the distance
My death knell is it not?
For I have fallen
From my once inassailable height
An arrow in my Achilles’s Heel
The pain throbbing incessantly
Though invincible I was
So did Achilles
And he still passed
From the Wheel of time
I see among the tombs
A stone for my Name
Prayers for my soul
Alleviate my damnation
From the grasps of ghouls
The colours I see no longer
A landscape of sepia to me
Come and claim my soul
And lay comfort to thy servant
Where thy soul was found wanting
Forgive me!
The downfall of your servant
Regret seeps into the very bones
Where I lay in the soil
Like moisture into the corpse
Decomposition lays herself upon me
Inevitable rigor mortis settling in
Come take me away
From this world of pain
Let thine soul depart
Without a tinge of regret
Let not them mourn
Let not tears be shed
For I was found wanting
Short of the perfect measure
And so I stand
Ready to be judged
My Heart lays upon the scales
Against a Feather on the other

P.S.: As always, one is one’s worst critic. So thy servant is no different.

Your servant
Aristocrat


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