Business Of Death
Business Of Death
These mortal remains
That you drag home,
Unswervingly,
For a mysterious reason,
Could best match
The marlin of Santiago,
Sans the accolades he amassed
For his uncommon courage.
The immortal souls
That effortlessly flee
From those culled carcasses,
Blinks before you own them,
Would someday trace
A pound of flesh yet again,
To house themselves in,
And tease you to chase them
For their futile frames.
This business you run, O Death,
Would land you someday
In an abyss of ceaseless agony,
Blinding you from your
Supreme goal, yet undiscovered.