E tenebras, lux dormiens

{Warning! Bad poetry ahoy!}

Now that you are dead, and though unreal
The basis of your time was your self.
The ring turns, its never ending wheel

Flows enjambment, who for yourself
Gives uneven leave to say, and fire in hand
To one watcher's soul, that itself

Could a tremulous contradiction stand.
Here, now, you are dead, thy soul, bereft,
To go where that higher plane of it demand.

And what of this empty thing that is left?
Should it decay, itself recycled then to feed
The other living things that behind is cleft

Between those that great sunlight need
And those that feed on dead and living things?
What then, those still alive shall still fade.

Cycle old, itself unending, simply brings
The interface of empire new but real,
Dark, light, old, new, circle, like little rings.

{Thanks for reading! You've really suffered, haven't you?}

[updated 2004 05 25, mispelling of terza rima, previously terzet rima.]