Whims

This terminal illness of love;
its unbearable weight upon my back,
its fangs upon my heart…
I pray only for entrance
into your kingdom
where I know devotion is devoured
in appetizing first courses.
I will go too soon, I know,
but it is no use to fight
as the lion holds a tenuous agreement
with all of mankind,
that its victims will be
at the whim of its hunger.