Spectral wraiths of crownless kings
throng the dreaded portal,
unsure of finding better things
or the meaning of immortal.
Unknowing of any tunnel,
or the brightest ever light,
certain only of the now of death,
and that life has taken flight.
Through twisted dark they find the gate
they come not ‘cause they choose,
they are banished here by fate,
they have nothing left to loose.
They don’t have to learn to die,
or how to find the way,
they no longer have control,
their fate they cannot sway.
Presidents & Holy men
all muster at the door.
Queens and feckless peasants too,
the same for rich and poor.
For the noble and the ugly
and the rich and starved of wife,
they are every one now very dead;
it’s the endless wheel of life.
neal allen (2012)