Make Ready… by Jessie 5/05

As thou makes ready for thy permanent slumber, thou calls a name, a name unfamiliar to present and forgotten by ages past.
As thy call upon the name, it lodges in thy throat and chokes thee.
The name conjured, slips between thy lips but not before the bitterness sends thy tongue into repel.  
Only calling now, in thy fear of daemons, which thou hast spawned, reaching from the very depths of thy blackened soul, pulling thee towards where thou do not wish to go.
The day is late and the flame flickers faintly, make thy peace with thyself, for it will not come from elsewhere.
Now that thou unattended fields hast grown fallow, winter is close at hand, a chill is in the air that splits thy leathery skin and settles deep within thy bones.
Do not attempt to squeeze a single tear from thy baron eye, if only for the sake of pity be.
Tempted might thy called upon be, to relax the inclination of forgiveness.
Alas… deaf is the called upon, thy words fall like weighted snowflakes, landing heavily on the earth, creating enormous quakes in thy mind.
Trouble not, for the shadowed faceless figure sent to escort thee, strikes quickly and will numb thy pain for eternity.
But whilst thy waits, reflect upon thy deeds and ask thee…if a man should parish and no one were ever to speak his name, was his imprint ever upon thy world?