soul weep

The aging leopard must too lay still, when sleep beyond shall claim his will,
I curse the seasons for their crime, for changing all that is in Time.
Bitter rager be I not, in case your petty soul forgot.
I merely am as clearly shown, a craver of life in all it's tone.
What kills the light that once was lit, superior to even Odysseus' wit,
To dance upon another's tomb, returning corpses to Gaia's Womb.
Death be the culprit, who sits on his pulpit, and sings a blessing dressed in taint,
Whose petty lies, cause haunting cries, where tears upon the world shall paint.


You must live and then you die, it's a motto of the Die, that is cast before your breath and shall land upon your death. What number it shall give to you, a shaman himself sure never knew, and though it is rational as they call, when you lose your love, what is rational at all?