Realm of the elm

There’s no-one there
to wipe away my tears.
No-one to care
who’ll alleviate my fears.
There’s no tender voice
to tell me it’s okay.
I made my choice
to walk the other way.
Away from the one
who could not tell
how I flew into the sun,
to await the tolling knell.
Death has become me
I can hear its call.
I sense the urgency,
feel the pressing pall.
As a stake is driven
deep into my soul,
love and life are riven,
out of my control.
Hold out your hands,
call me to your realm;
to far off meadowlands
to rest beneath the elm.
There, to lay at peace;
no more this weary world,
where once, upon my knees,
the angry daemons whirled.