A short poem sort of about about life, death, and faith. |
-And Then- by Keaton Foster Once tall Laying down Dead Deceased Empty carcasses Lacking any soul Each one of them Intimately known Caring so deeply Wishing not to be Without them is hell Monuments of pain Standing in the shade A sun no longer shines Darkness enshrined Where have they gone Will any of us ever know Is the destination the same Or does in vary in ways Unimaginable to those that remain Relation as always is a game And we are all playing right along Copious amounts of copies Living within the same hypocrisy There is absolutely no certainty Increasingly wondrous is the pain Suffering without them Each day does the sun rise And every night does it hide A vicious cycle That all of us are living We come to this place This wilderness of the dead To remind us of what we have lost And what it is they have gained All who reside Are corpses free of flesh Skeletons unencumbered Piles of dust with not a wind To spread them wide Trapped in their final state Human beings turned waste Those that have come here Aimlessly walk about Mourning those dead Crying in their hands Screaming towards their own sky Symbolic tides in an ocean of reality God above is the only one who knows And he refuses to speak with any clarity Speculation is the best offered Belief is and will always be The only true form of salvation At least while we are living And then… And Then Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013 |