Poem: Glory

Dark clouds are carrying gloom

Impending storm will hit soon

Brace for it if you so choose

Or ignore it and reap doom

The storm will come for us all

Weak or strong we all will fall

Some close their eyes and cower

Swallowed by the dark power

Too many let the end come

Against darkness, darkness won

All die, all will expire

Disappear in the mire

We can stand tall, heads held high

When death’s call is drawing nigh

Or hang our heads for the blade

Grab a shovel, dig the grave

One will pass weak and broken

Soul empty and eyes swollen

Another singing glory

Dictating one’s own story