When Death Takes My Hand

I ask not to be remembered for who I am
Nor the fading echoes of the glitz and glam;
Night draws near for the young and old.
The Judge at hand, a verdict to behold.
Recall a poor man sullied with sin
Weep for the man I could have been.
Pray at the box for the dust within
Though life has left, its pulse echoes on,
On into the light or dark. Here, imprint your mark!
Upon my soul, please never falter,
My greatest hope lies in that Angelic Psalter.
Please may your indulgence never cease
Till the bright day when I rest in peace.