If you live long enough you start collecting ashes.
The length of life is but the width of lashes.
Living alongside those who'll leave,
For a fate you'll never deceive.
Marches fall silent along your way,
Giving unread words the last say.
Dreary, flat skies of white,
Hang over souls waiting for flight.
We're waiting; waiting for word, waiting for more.
A dull infectious death; grotesqueless gore.
Getting up in the morning is a stolen choice.
To hope is cruel to those who lost their voice.
This is all we have; this moment, this now.
To live our answers to the why and the how.