Silent Sentinels: a blank verse

Antediluvian stones bare the names
of those who have gone on so long before.
Across death’s threshold, thinned veils open wide;
a bone-faced porter waits with bated breath.
For Death has come to take me far from here,
to walk on mystic shores steeped moist with mist.
My debts are paid, I am prepared to die
just as naked as the day I was born.
Tall trees, like skeletons, stripped bare and bleak
stand silent sentinel o’er top the place
where I, once mortal, rest my weary bones—
a timeless bed cloaked coyly in clover.
 
No daunting, golden light doth comfort me,
for here I stand in deepest darkness now.
This aching bitterness I feel inside
is lost on silent winds of dire despair.
Should I dare wonder how things might have been
had life dealt me a royal flush instead?
Alas, true love was never in the cards,
as I’ve been doomed to die alone, just I.
Yet, farther beyond moonlight's ghostly void
there lies in wait a diff’rent shade of grey,
where stormy clouds have gathered in a haze.
As twilight’s velvet cloak envelops me...