Does it sit

Does it sit

On a shoulder

In imitation of

Long John’s Parrot

Another mimic

With a catchphrase

Pieces of eight, pieces of eight

Does it nibble at an ear

Whispering secrets

Filled with despair

Tearing tufts of hair

Out by their roots

Planting seeds of doubt

Professing to know

The meaning of things

Promising the world

For a betrayal

Practising the kiss

Would it be bliss

To surrender

To its call

Its true face hidden

Beneath a ghostly caul

Does it stand

Waiting at the door

A sentinel

Does it sings a song

Of welcome

No-one else can hear

As you approach

Does it sit on your chest

Its dead men’s

Legs crossed

Raising a glass in your name

Calling you treasure

There is no pleasure

In its voice

Neither you nor it

Has a choice

It is there

Until you take

Your last breath

It is the beginning

Of ends

It never wavers

Or bends

It is the harbinger

An odour that lingers

It is death