It was cold the night before,I can remember
ghost pulling the burlap quilt to my neck.
Then there was the gravel shining as I kicked
in circles just to see the dust reflect.

There was a sound like fresh lettuce being cracked,
in the distance. Twelve more paces left to go,
before it ceases and becomes different.

When you're close to ever-after the only sound
will be flies. Sipping blood that has been captured
in the puddles of dead eyes.

Where were we when this happened? How can time
have no account? All the souls that we sent back!!!
Like gods decision did not count!

Shame on us.