The Slave

It's an irresistible pull from the grave
calling out to me, requiring my presence.
Like hypnosis, behavior controlled
not from autonomy but from the slave.

A slave who felt the call, the pull on himself
required now to endlessly repeat the sequence.
Inner impulse, outward obsession
like a book he can't put back on the shelf.

"Onward!" he exclaims," keep moving on, move out"
Inexorably we gravitate to the end.
"What will it be like?" I want to ask
Hearing my thoughts the slave shrugs and shouts:

"The time is come! Prepare you the way this day!"
The fog closing around us clings like an old coat
Closer and colder it penetrates.
I grasp the cold is me, am dismayed.

"Why tremble you?" asks the slave slithering on.
"You asked to be here and you found your own pathway
Why sound anxious now. you got your wish."
 I look around and see: I am Gone.