Graveyard Aristocrat

He carries death upon his shoulders,

a trophy, a fate he’s conquered,

bones bejewelled with earthly splendour,

rattling in the graveyard,

commanding husks that once-were,

that never shall be again.

And for what purpose?

To hoard that which glitters,

that which awes the weak of mind,

a shine dulled by cemetery gravel,

overindulgent.

To warriors strong,

and clerics brave,

conquerers of the malicious,

do not be fooled by tales of false worth,

for he has naught but that

which cannot travel with him,

past the mortal gate.

And in the shadows of eternity

his soul, shrivelled by greed,

shall never glow, shall never gleam,

and like ashes from the fire,

he will succumb, morosely.

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Originally published on Medium.