• The world is crum'bling 'round my feet,
    a cold bleak world,
    with little to eat.
    spread-eagled on the ground,
    trod upon,
    but make no sound.
    The world is a dark place,
    full of sin and dischord,
    work, work, and die
    that's all that's means for me;
    happiness- what a fleeting dream!

    The snow comes now,
    setting the scene,
    crouch'ed 'pon the ground.
    Begging for scraps and meat,
    grey listless skies, in cold eyes,
    as they pass me by.
    On my belly, like a snake,
    do I slide and slither,
    back to the gutter
    of the world,
    for it hates me so.

    Winter weather,
    all the time,
    in this ice-locked
    heart of mine,
    lovers who once
    gave me a chance
    go around me
    without a fleeting, bitter glance,
    at what I have become;
    hollow eyes and sunken cheeks
    mark me among the destitute

    The bruise-dark wells beneath
    my wretched eyes
    grow deeper by the day,
    in the cruel hard world,
    I am not long to stay.

    A single match
    she gives to me
    this bright arch-angel,
    this light-blessed girl...
    but it shan't last a season,
    and for, there is no reason
    to stay among the rest.

    a single match, its
    flame alight
    bright-ing up
    the dense dark night
    my last upon this world.
    Spirits whisper to say farewell
    my time is up,
    my story none are meant to tell,
    hungry, cold
    I sit alone
    As Lord Death
    beckons me, to his throne.
    The warmth comes now,
    and all is numb...

    The light is flick'ring
    but it seems at last
    that a wretched beggar
    can now be: Past.
    all the saddness,
    and agony.
    all the sin
    and cacophany
    gone,
    now there is
    the sweet noise,
    the joyous voice,
    of silence
    no more to sufer, hindered
    by a worldly form,
    begging days are over now;
    for I am...

    No more.


    -Enkharte ©