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by Grimnian


The End Of Days

What dreams may come from Heaven's hand when life is drifting like dry sand? Passing through an endless night that blots out sunshine and all light.  The Dreamer's sleep is restless woe and the chains that bind are all I know. The grip of earth confines me still, as human bondage ends free will. Death is freedom from dead sand when God she reaches out her hand, and lifts me in a strong embrace to see the smile upon her face.  My flesh is warmer than the Sun, our bodies link and merge as one, and join together in rebirth, and bind as one to leave this earth. I dream of Gods and other places, my tired spirit, forgotten faces, of others who have dreamed this Death and shared with her their final breath. I know the morphine helps me sleep and perhaps around me others weep, but cradled in a drugged fuelled haze, I see God's light at the End of Days.       

© Grimnian 2011


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