The Dove

I've been trying to get back into poetry with a rhyme scheme and some sort of set form.

In the darkness of the woods, there I lay

Struck down by the master I dared disobey

The sentinel scurries away with a hellion

A succubus that scoffs at my rebellion

They fly away into the clouds of twilight

As I lay dying, my breath growing more finite

Red cruor rushes from the wound on my head

An ensanguined river forms from that I have bled

I struggle relentlessly to keep my eyes open

So I may see the stars with a gaze unbroken

I will be among them soon, I have come to learn

The time drawing nearer, I need not discern

My view of the world around me apace fades

Into my own eyes the darkness rapidly invades

A light descends upon my moribund bosom

It captures my soul in a gleaming prism

In the prism, my spirit begins to ascend

My body lay there on its own left to fend

My spirit is carried into the light above

Onto my lifeless body flies a virgin dove

My spirit smiles as it sees the dove below

It looks the other way into the new world aglow

There is finally comfort for my smote soul

For a dolorous life had taken its toll

Reviews

[diaphanous]

Beautiful descriptive language.
"Red cruor rushes from the wound on my head
An ensanguined river forms from that I have bled"
A really gorgeous depiction of death at its most peaceful and serene.