I wrote this in the spring. I am surprised by my own fear and loathing. 

 

Hearing the gods of war in fear I cringe.

Soul quivers in knowledge of deaths approach.

Army of the dead play a somber dirge.

And words of my judgement are softly spoke.

Why does this enemy pursue me so?

Surely there are some more loathsome than I.

I am giving and seeds of love I sow.

Yet still judgement calls and says I must die.

In desperation I seek an escape.

I would gladly run from death’s bony claw.

Death upon me I look him in the face.

Heart sank as it was my own face I saw.

Time wasted watching for the enemy.

But the one I should far the most is me.

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