Let Death Not Be Displaced Than Found Afar Poem by Titus Llewellyn

Look down say I the dead of night
Whom twas it, dispatched himself;
As thou as sure, a hint of might,
May give return in Wealth!
Such Wealth received with interest paid,
To err for this that right from wrong
Care nonetheless for life,
Will not a share of this be stark
To hazard it be more than dark.


A still but asked for claim to fame,
Be it subtle or not;
To freedom its need to do the same,
Let me withold this spot:
That my entrance be such a dream
To whom it was, a length of time,
No concern to you lot;
Yet this from where I stand,
It was somehow fated not planned.


It was such to make me a slave
Whom deservedly would be,
A soul to whom it was shall save,
All it can to mimic thee.
To rove with praise the joy of peace,
Let ease the will to withold cease,
Self immerse to potpourri:
At least to stave thou canst do wrong
To shed some light where I belong.



It could be still that death hast raised;
It may as well be said:
It took a life from thine once praised,
Shall never more be dead.
How peaceful can one's longing for
Be needed as to ask for more;
If it be to request
That whilst the soul be still aware,
To roam as one's own said affair.


The persist is carried soon attach'd
To the ethereal state;
Sure as found naturally matched
From which it shall relate:
As yet known as the subtle blend
To which all substances, end to end,
Belonging to those sedate;
Where fusion can of late be soul,
To grace what change it makes as whole.


Remove thy inert embroiled,
when you see nothing pour;
than the plight of unknown spoiled
shall none be foraged more:
That day complete when death hast pass'd,
could it be portrayed to the last,
exceptions, claused without;
like a lone path head long in haze
does unrest seem for now always.