Death Poem by Steve Howard

I see you, and I know you sir.
You would make of me a slave.
You are a slinking, sulking shadow,
that dogs my footsteps to the grave.
And as the sun is sinking low,
on a day of seeming brevity,
it's now your hateful face you
show,
without conscience, without
empathy.
I say I do not love you sir.
You play a game I cannot win.
You would rob me of the things that were,
and all that might have been.
I tell you I despise you sir.
You are a clinging dark depravity.
And I shun your greedy grasping claw,
with disgust and bold temerity.