Measured footfalls ring,
metal-shod on cobblestone,
and call the ravens from the roofs.
I thought him fiction, icon, myth,
yet here I swing, and here he comes.

Armored rib-bones clang,
rapping iron with ivory,
and summon darkness from the earth.
I thought I was of this exempt,
yet here I hang, and here he comes.

Winter fingers snap
with quick and sure finality,
and serve the warrant of the grave.
I was a priest, a mage, a prince,
yet here I am, and here he is.

The Hanged Man
Death
Temperance

The Devil
The Tower
The Star

The Moon
The Sun
Judgement

The World