LIFE TO DEATH A TRAVELLER’S RECORD

My crimsoned robe, purple it was, Perspicacity thus is benevolence’s loss, Shadows all that fall are mine, Who then ingratitude incarnated? If irony be incoherence of expectations, Shall the desert blame the sand? Of all the malice that rules my heart, How much does the heart absorb? Huge trees stare at me, Desolate is the road I am on, My clothing, now, has lost its colour, Red was never skins lovable shade, Split I am between recognition and not, Curse I do, it never reaches beyond, Pugnacious is the darkness of black, Gracious is the walk of death, Now I am I am at peace, The precarious precipice is but a retreat, All those who, who death detest, May love life! Shall death adore…