V (Death) - Fen

No headstone will mark our passing

No mourners shall pay tribute

No tithes to those who surrender to blackness

No offerings for those entombed in this barren land

The bells toll only within the strata of lost ages

Earth, death, time and sorrow our parting hymn

The circle has no end, our solace, no beginning

Peace is only found in these unheralded, desolate kingdoms

Withing the silence of the soils

Amongst the mass grave of the forgotten

Cemeteries forged in peat

A cenotaph of bog oak

Shivering flesh cupped in the shriveled claws of the fenland mausoleum

Welcomed by a womb of cold earth

Coiling like a foetus, I succumb to the silence

Amputating the senses

Embracing a well of oblivion

I yearn to dissolve into the infinite

Where past, present and future are bereft of meaning

Where each echo of my torrid material self

Drips slowly into a sink hole of desolation

Where each reflection of the flesh

Causes a tidal surge of misery

A patchwork of memories floats before my mind’s eye

And it is with the gratitude of a lifetime I witness them fade

Dissipating and drifting as morning mists

Eradicated for all time

I pray for nothingness

My starved will craves void

And in this stark cradle of dead fen-flesh

I have found my solace

I have found my reward

I have found release

I have found my blessed death