Death Comes Arising

Dying, wilting removed of grace,
the black rose withers with immediate haste.
Petals of black, deathing satin,
whisper husky in the pealing bells of latin.

Stems of silvery and olden hues,
and thorns of the utmost blue,
colden the rooms and darken the pews.
Death has come its way!
Arise and hark! All ye who depart!
May swift wings ride the night skies,
to guide all those to die.

Call the death chime, hear it ring,
lighten the hearth and deaden the wing.
Roaring up the rafters shut,
laughing at the mortal's rut.

Wilting, thy black rose seeps,
death has come and comes to keep.
The mortals life is taken,
one breath remains.
One of whom is yet awaken,
and always stays the same.

Forever and ever in remorse,
it silences the morning and exiles the course.
Next, Death comes for it is nigh
it comes and will kill thee and thine!