Quod ego sum qui semper mortem videt

Death cast its hand over my eyes that day 
They say it’s nothing to write home about, but I’m filled with doubt 
When nothingness, oblivion fills my heart…paralysis ensuing, 
Brewing slowly, gently like the storms of time 
And then entwine amid the echoes of my brother’s voices 
More choices, now are mine to make, more breath is mine to keep 
Weep? I did, for once more earth my flesh must break, must bury the pieces deep 

Deceitful, insignificant I whisper, soon I bellow 
Fellow men beneath this iron sky, beg to comprehend why 
Our minds subject themselves to fear, so near to all that we had held at broken arm’s length
Strength means nothing here 

Like the seed, the grain of wheat, these deafening silent voices embed themselves beneath my skin, like the weed that smothers, chokes, enbalms the rose with life-deceiving warmth

I have seen where it grows, deep beneath the earth that no man knows, it shows itself from time to hurtful time…reminding me of what is mine and not 
Crows, circle into colder darker skies, their cries beckon me on

The side of me that once grasped existence, existentially has died 
And every facet in between is proven to have lied 
With icy whispers to you, Great Spirit, alone, I will confide 
And seek with desperation, my longing thus to hide

for soon I shall return to you

and soon forsake the colder world and wide.