of stifled grief and rainy tears.
The air is tangible, a thing alive,
gripping hearts and lungs with fingers
cold and cruel and searching hungrily.
Seeping into bones is rain, amongst tears
and an eternal dew, casting prisms of light
among the ever present darkness.
False sadness and comforts drip like poison
from a greedy, beguiling snake,
and faces are painted and impossibly perfect,
unnaturally beautiful on this grey, rainy day.
And within the beautiful darkness,
the warm, comforting darkness, rests
a bed as soft as a dream, dreamt by
every mortal man, woman and child.
Lovely rashes of colorful flowers bejewel
the otherwise dull, lifeless spaces.
A murmur of creatures and feastings
and all the while, from sadness is life,
and soon every walking collection of soil
shall melt and join together in the sea of others.
Over time, with warm lazy days and
tense, stormy days and all other days
comes the scent of sweet lovely death,
and the futile efforts of mere mortals.
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