Summary:
Tried something different.
It's open to interpretation.
Once sanctuary.
The uninviting undertones bellow in mourning. A
soured fate.
They say the deads sleep is endless, as my toll chimes,
wakeless.
Still unsighted eyes.
With sickly bloodshot yolk, cresting as if
to rise reborn.
Tarnishing sleek silvered rumination, in anniversary of
the best forgotten.
Another empty plot fills a space better kept for the
rigid, the disciplined.
Hands worn of time for nothing other than
keeping bones wrapped.
In unbound duty, spreading dirt, not to coverbut expose. Treadless stepping over and over the ghosts trampled in
greater haste.
Who's borrowed words are sung as tribute, in service
striking back in self reverence.
Now hollowed breath exhumed.
To treat a lasting patron, the unintroduced, bares the yet collected as for
tolled is all.
Reserving another debt to be owed in exchange.
They march with purpose they march for purpose, not in step.
Peace will never reclaim them, for they know not peace.
Sleep remains a wistful
dream.
Not to be conquered.
