The Many Judgements of Bony Death

Death is a bitter wine.
Red as the blood
of a Bathory milkmaid
spilled into the kettle
of false Immortality.

It's the agony of fatality.
The ear shattering cry
of a banshees final lament.
It hardens the gentle stroke
of midnights hand
and steals the last moment
of innocence slumber.

Flashing lights of mortality
sometimes mistaken for rays
at the end of a tunnel,
which open to a purgatory
where stagnated souls wander.

Deaths bony finger,
is a grave indifference
that points to
the inevitable dissolution
of life's theater.

unto one path
follows a judgement
of times bleak earnest.
A heavy gavel
brought down onto
the cold point
of condemnations knife.

Through cracked windows
dawns light slither
and trial rolls
the dice of chance.
The jury contemplates
its final decision
and deals fate
a fresh hand.

The cherubs sing.
A second path illuminates
that lead the lost
to hopes lucent promise
and the comforting palm
of redemption's peace.