Restless

Restless
Peter Andes

She loathes you in your addictive need,
to all others she lends her black steed.
Pure darkness, sinewy, silent, swift,
in a single bound over the rift.
Out of time and out of mind,
those she likes blissful oblivion find.

She loathes you, abandons at your request,
raving, scathing, devoid of life-giving rest.
You howl in your coffin unable to die,
the box that hems in your soul decries,
"never shall close your blood-wreathed eyes!"
Thus you must wait for the world to rise again,
unable to fall, days and nights never in twain.

She loathes you, and will not slake your lust.
For that which all need, else life and sanity rust.
You scream and shriek at your heavy, seamless helm,
accursed to wander eternal earth, 'neath celestial realm.