The Secrets of the Dead

Quest forgotten in arms of island dead

As I long books of old lore read.

My friend urged me forward,

my heart back me lead,

And I read, read,read.

I know I should leave the island of dead

They circle me ever with knowledge

They trap me hear

As their books, they draw me near

As the dead to, draw near and leer.

I do not hunger after bread,

For in Island dead I'm as undead

And I forget the quest that lead

Me to these books of dead,

Waiting to be read.

Maybe I thought of friend before

Of foe and family at home,

I sit within the golden dome

And my heart thinks not of home,

Only of books within the golden dome.

The leaves they fall around the dome.

My friend long since departed home.

And then I finish the last scroll

And the spells from my heart roll

And the spells from my mind roll.

Then I fall upon gilded floor

Of this horrid place of ancient lore.

And the dead around me gather

Talking, as if of great matter

Talking, as if of death's ladder.

And I ascend the ladder then

Into hell's not fiery fen

Full of drowning, drowning men.

And who thought hell was full of burning men?

For hell is filled with a ghastly fen.

I cry to the passing Devil's with horns

“Why are there not the crowns of thorns?

Why am I, not a sinner in Lords eyes,

Here, and not in Heaven’s sky’s?

Why am I hear, not in Heaven's sky's?”

The Devil's call back, hooting,

“Why, you were the dead's knowledge looting!

Condemned to hell are all that claim

To know all that the dead declaim!

The ones who know we must soon maim.”

I said, “My family's awaiting

Me at my manor: waiting, waiting.

You ought to tell them what had past.

So that my memory may last

So that my brood's memory’s last.”

The Devils yelled with faces sneering

“He thinks his family's not hearing

The great call of our mighty lord

The one who evils souls does hoard.

Ha! your family is hear, within our Satan's evil hoard!

The time has passed quite quick to you,

But your family for thousand yeas makes do

With Devils whips upon their back!

One who reads the books of dead,

Does not return here till all are read.”

And then the Devils whips don't slack,

And fall, upon my 'fore unsullied back.

And I before the whips do run.

I, who knew all secrets of the dead

Before I  was one.

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I honestly can't decide if this poem is serious or not.  The rythm of the first two lines is a bit off, do you think I should re-write them? (In case it isn't clear whenever the words read or lead appear at the end of a line the rhyme with dead.)