Making The World My Tomb

Uniting with the soil

Clasping the earth and its endless mould.

Preserving its soft mire

Underneath heavy lids.

Tired by the weight, of the world,

Blinded by its cruelty,

A pain so superfluously vivid,

Yet in its realization

I find peace.

... And linger in my tomb

Where none holds sway

But the ones that feed,

With much excitement.

My glistening children,

Frantic with gluttony.

With them I’ll soon have wings,

And together we will grow

Out of the earth,

Lowering up like an angel of death

Cadaveric and reeking

In alt its putrescent glory.

And with the hot summer's night

Thus i swarm towards the sky.

Drifting in the moist breeze,

Sweeping the earth

Like autumn leaves.

A black horde carries my name,

Nourishing on death

And drinking decease.

But before long

The coup will he of life's irony.

Suffering a thousand deaths anew.

I’ll be raining silent and cold

Out of the heavens,

Making the world ray grave.

Aeons have passed

The cycle remains eternal.

Kills me harder,

Hurts me longer

Than death ever could.