Leafless trees hang low, over cold and silent grave,
Dark skies above foreboding, not yet a snowflake shed,
Winter hath descended, soon will the land enslave,
In grip of icy tentacle, the touch of recent dead.
My faith and trust are swept like straws, from grasp by tempest's woe,
As I devour the bitter ash, of soul's despair of haunting sorrow,
Dark and gloomy mausoleum, erected by death's loathsome lust,
Man's unperverted Ithuriel mask, conventions are by evil crushed.
Shrouded chambers of lifeless haunts, recoil as shadows bleed,
Clouds of terror reach fingers out, dark spirits stalk; hell hath decreed.
With mournful soul and quivering limbs, touch on my lifeless breath,
Unrelenting desolation, stand face to face with sin and death.
A miser's life devoid of warmth, if not for heat of anger,
Grievers haste last requiem, in quest of life's departure,
Affections cause not mourner's grief, for hate creates their languor,
For in his life bred discontent, now silent wrath incur.
Aye, the miser lay in final slumber, beneath a rich man's stone,
But in the ground as poor shall lie, for wealth shan't pierce the shroud,
As man doth live, so shall he perish, shall live and die alone,
As pauper to the worms doth go, beneath foreboding cloud.
Heed the death knell of the miser, as passes through time's portal,
Lest one betakes themselves too great, in history, all are mortal.
[This message has been edited by Mike (edited 12-21-1999).]