Through years of begging, Viserys received
His crown of molten gold
Falyse went by Qyburn’s hand
And Hoster was too old

The queen filled Robert up with drink
So he’d be slaughtered by a boar
Lysa, elsewhere, in the Vale
Was shoved out the Moon Door

The Viper wanted sweet revenge
And instead had his head bashed in
But his poisoned spear made sure that death
Was gruesome for the Mountain

Ned Stark’s honor cost him his head
His son’s fate much the same
He was stabbed in the back by bannermen
At the Red Wedding of fame

Catelyn watched as her son was killed
So at her own face she tore
But she won’t suffer death until
The Freys are all no more

The great Khal Drogo’s mind was blank
And he was smothered by his wife
The Tickler was stabbed a thousand times
By little Arya’s knife

King Joffrey was poisoned and he choked
His uncle took the blame
Lord Tywin died by crossbow bolt
And his brother had the same

Renly was killed by Melisandre
Through shadowy deceit
In other news, the Goat was dining
On his own hands and feet

There were not one, not two, but seven deaths
Of Beric Dondarrion
And the voyage south was not so kind
To Aemon Targaryen

Blood magic fires took Mirri Maz Duur
Dragon fire, Quentyn Martell
Luwin died in the aftermath
Of the Sack of Winterfell

The prologues and the epilogues,
Balon, Slynt, Jeor,
Ser Arys, the Cassels, Syrio, Shae,
Yoren, Mandon Moore

A thousand deaths are still to come,
So to all who have decreed
That the number of deaths is exaggerated
I recommend a reread

by Silver Spearwife

You’ve gone and I stayed
And now I must plead
Please don’t get delayed
Come back, come back
Just come back to me…

I’m bound by chains
I love you, you see
My life in your veins
Come back, come back
Just come back to me…

And at night I pray
For the day we will see
All this pain go away
Come back, come back
Just come back to me…

To the Seven I beg
To the old Heart Tree
In this life or another
We will find each other
Come back, come back
Just come back to me….

By Little Miss Sunshine

No man may see more death than me, 
More angst, despair, nor tragedy, 
And though I bear it with great shame,
Death and I are both the same.

I travel far, by star and sun,
Where men doth tread, or beasts do run,
And though I may not pass your way,
We’re sure to meet at last one day.

From the Wall, the North, I take my seat,
Where Wildlings, crows and undead meet,
I will take them each and all in time,
And look then south, to warmer climes.

To the great grass sea, that flows and sways,
Where Death comes in much harsher ways,
And I follow most not beasts nor men,
But the Arakhs of Barbarians. 

It falls to me to travel still,
With tired eyes, against my will,
East again, and south some more,
To the red brick walls of Astapor.

Here men toil, to die in chains,
Not free to choose, nor bear a name,
I take them all and give them peace, 
At last to see their suffering cease.

The masters, they escape me not,
but soon, too, go to ground to rot,
With wealth nor power, they cannot flee,
For there can be no escaping me.

I fly to see the Braavosi,
Where in temples large they worship me,
By many names, and many faces,
Both in future worlds and forgotten places,

Yet still it saddens me to do,
This task I’m set, and see it through,
“Valar Morghulis” they may cry,
Yet it’s because of me, all men must die.

I walk the fields and halls of men,
As I travel to the west again,
To glance upon this Stygian flood,
Of humanity, bathed in blood.

I see young and old alike soon fall,
In burning fields or towers tall,
And through this all I seem to find,
No salvation for mankind.

For murder lies in every soul,
And it falls to me to keep the toll,
Of every one who’s been and passed,
When I take you in my arms at last.

As I take the souls of those who go,
It pains me still, for even though,
Life is sacred, you forget,
And steal it away each chance you get,

I take no pleasure from this task,
Yet it falls to me, so now I ask,
Why men must live this life of crime,
For I die with you every time.

I hold your souls now in my hand,
From every corner of the land,
I pass them on, and even though,
I do not know where dead men go,

I know you are luckier than I,
For though you live, you too can die,
And see but once this tragedy,
this life of pain and misery,

And kiss goodbye this horror show,
The life of men, and now you know,
Why I take this task I do;
I am Death, because of you.

By Jcooper

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there.

I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet white doves in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there,

I did not die.

Thanks, Lady of Oldcastle!