soon, so soon shall i be gone,
only words reversed by my curse live on,
only chants, a rant, descant upon
my choicest voice, the noise to spawn.
what is this now? how shall it be?
invest less press in what is me.
digest this, lest it’s wasted deeds
there’s more to explore. poor enemies.
venom is key, in me to be
the final scroll to wrest from he
who bears the sword so gracefully,
to unhead souls that can not see.
– m.p. 09/19/2015