When the mourning wakes you,
and the tears roll down,
disoriented with sleep.
When the fear takes you,
no one else around,
alone you weep.
No dreams of immortality,
death's around,
In death's service you'll keep.
Chained to your body,
pulled to the ground,
just out of death's reach.
Not gone yet; still here,
not gone yet; still; fear,
unreasonable,
at such an early hour.
Unreasonable,
and still.
No comments:
Post a Comment