Petition of an Old Warrior

Let ravens make cavernous portals
for creeping things
when they glut on the jelly of my glassy eyes.

Let mongrels foul their stinking breath
with rotten patches of green skin
torn from, worm tunneled, sinew.

Let carrion feeders reel
with the wine of this grim table
as they savor the putrid elixir of black blood.

Let my pall bearer be choking vine,
my moldy frame nourishment,
to carry my bones beneath the ground.

Let intrepid spades of grass
push through ribs to bury me
and shine in early morning dew.

Let my rites be sounded
to melody of wind through lipless grin,
through the pipes of my hollow skull.

I pray this field of gore to be my sepulchre,
this tree a living monument
to cradle my broken form beneath his arms.

Lady Death how will you care for your jealous lover?
Will you blanket me with wildflowers and sweet smelling herbs?

When will you invite me to feel the freezing hardness of your embrace,
to know the ice of your blue lips locked on my soul forever?

Mistress Death, I love you. But, you are a whore!
I weep with rage, and envy, for every man I send to your embrace.