This Nordic Rock

Upon this Nordic rock I sit.

Jagged edges gouge,
Cutting bone,

The sea beckons,
a breeze vibrant with the smell of
   Decay.

Grass yellowed by the saline air.
dead hands waving from their graves.

The land is sick, the cliff crumbles
below me and the sun sets
Behind me.

No solace is found here,
no comfort
in the hour of Death.
save the Raven's sullen caw.

My skin turned to leather
from weathering gales.

   Eyelids drooping, slack
cheeks force the frown.

The world closes, the moon
Rises to meet the stars.

My grip loosens.
On my arm which fades away,
muted blues turn to shades of gray.

And then I am, or
        there I was.
Upon this Nordic Rock I sat.