From Bulwark to Bane

Let your name echo on,
 off my tongue;
 I fear no timely death.
 All mortal suffering I defy,
 with faith no saviour ought deny.
 I watch the wraiths as they're gathering,
 preceding Yama, on a buffalo steed;
 he's bearing down with malevolence,
 on me.
 Should I relent and lay trust in your goodness,
 in descent through the crust in to darkness?
 My Shiva, I'm fading. Don't forsake me, defend
 - spare me this end.
 ...there is a slightest hinting breeze.
 Dare I awake to what s'rounds my vicinity?
 Rising up I find myself embracing sights familiar;
 still, like homelands left in wake of war.
 And what form is this that lies before me now?
 Yama is your name, ol' tyrant infamed;
 gripping your noose with cadaverous jade hands.
 Oh Shiva, you've fell death,
 indebting corporeal;
 we who so anxiously drew breath.
 But as living laws crumble
 we've lost sight of justice
 - perhaps not deities
 but our own mortality
 instills in us all
 our morality.
 Deathless existence
 has become the worst
 fate I'd imagine.
 Return mortal curse.
 by ANDRÉ M. (@xdesgracerax)