322. Death' s Feeble Grip
Slowly circling the battlefield, till comes the end of day.
Hiding in the dark shadows, it senses all the strife,
Waiting for the mortal wound, so it can take the life.
Within great suffering, and amidst the agonizing pain,
Lies the black realm, where Death holds its eternal reign.
In that moment when the victim's life begins to slowly pass,
The dark one, known to us as Death, holds its final mass.
Death's grip on flesh is eternal, with sharp claws it holds on tight,
But the specter cannot cling to the soul as it moves into the light.
Death howls in frustration when the Gods draw the spirit away,
For not even Death can stop the Gods from doing as they may !
- Glenn Bergen, ( Ravensheart ), © Copyright, 2015.