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O, windblown, shaken bough!
O, malignant wind to all life!
O, decrepit body that cannot defend!
O, mighty sun, succumbing to night!
O, the life that stills at the sordid transition!
O, how far the mighty fall when the bough of youth is shaken!
O, to find resistance to this visage of mortality!
O, caustic darkness that holds me firm and powerless!
O, irksome jargon that tangles the tongue!
O, will my soul be next?
Fettered in the chains of odious melancholy?!
O, no more. No more!
The eyes dim of light as the deepening grey steals life.
O, I will shed this inconsistent shell! Whimsical..tired shell!
-J.A. Campbell
Copyright © 2009
About this poem
Death
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_(cropped)_02.jpg/238px-Portrait_of_Geoffrey_Chaucer_(4671380)_(cropped)_02.jpg "Geoffrey Chaucer"){kind=small}
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