Death's Beckoned Door Well Welcomed. Poem by Michael Gale

Many busied minutes have been spent upon my brow....
As formed of sweat that be hanging on down as if not enow.
A toilment of movement has haunted my graying cloud about my head...
Following oh following b'neath my dread.
Will'st this dread bring about my unlying day reckoning of being dead? ...
Watching and waiting the spread of dread, whilst it does do change
into it's renewed spreading dread.
That clock on yonder wall does well haunt me...
Ticking it's unconcessive sound well ached to ear.
How will i manage to unbitter this sounding well resounding attacked
to my one good ear? ...
Haste to thee these all wasted many year.
Alas i must bid not one good fare thee well as not...
Hence my choice to die and proceed straight into that dismal hell.
Death still mocks me as i sit and dwell...
I shan't ever feel safe as well.
Death promises to me a long yearning respite...
This in the end to me will finally delight.