The penultimate is

Despair

The ultimate we don’t know

For we’re not there

Forbidden to go East.
But I have gone.

Forbidden to go on the Great river.
But I am there.

Open your hearts you spirits to my song.
As I go to the place of the gods.

I have painted my body for death. And my heart is big as I go to the place of the gods.

He lived below this white cliff
In a cave by the ocean’s shore
To no particular society
He recited
Long ago poets of old
Such as Blake, Tennyson, and Poe
But the grey ocean’s natural roar
Like tomorrows and ages before
Rolled over his words
And left him, my ancestor, submerged.

The curtains open
The curtains close
Upon an empty coliseum

There’s a lonely raven
Adorn in black-satin
Who quoth: “Where’s Poe?”

Squishy shoes sighs
Wonders how his owner
Is getting by?

Dry?
No, poor fella
Forgot his umbrella

Wind and curtain
For all time
Wind and curtain
Ancient bell chimes

Wind and curtain
Life seemed certain
Wind and curtain
Until slipped in - slippery serpent

Wind and curtain
A different clock
Wind and curtain
Death like - never knocks

Old man Lux Brumalis -
“Light of winter”
With long shadow branches
On cold blank white patches

Old man Lux Brumalis -
Has put a blanket over Harvest
As he intermingles and rests
Through the springtime apricus