At your throne my steps falter
I tune my tone your ear to steal
That before never harkened
To voices long lost in weeping
My head I bow at your feet
For great is this prayer I make
At this your bloodied shrine
From whence none returns,
Death, king of living kings
Let my tongue cool your wrath
May my song halt your hand
That harvests in gardens unripe
Appear, my pain now to abate
For I am a host on the edge
Knowing not my guest’s face
Show now your ghostly hue
That my eyes may warily feast
Let my feeble fingers feel
The sinews that steal from my land
Let my mind know in this dream
The guest I will entreat
But before my door I open
Death;
Tell me why, oh unheralded king
Why from gardens unripe
Your scythe savours it’s reap

© chrispus kimaru