Death-Will
No stranger here, he prowls around my room,
Fingering the bookshelves like a trusted friend;
Sometimes he talks to me, talks of the tomb:
But I have heard it all before; I send
Him out to tantalise another victim
And, if he stays away, then I pretend
That I have found his sorcery out and licked him,
That his dark claims on me are at an end.
But, when I’ve kicked the opiate gong around
A bit and gorged a feast of revelry,
Drunk the warm nectar of the flesh and found
The poison in the dregs, then, lonely, I
Think he alone can patch the gash of sin:
So, when he knocks once more, I let him in.
Page(s) 37
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