A single hand, left all alone in the sand;
devoured by dirt, and abandoned by land-
rotting is the very flesh of the dear and lonely;
distorted is he;
unnatural is she-
for holes in the heart;
bullet wounds damage flesh, like the jaws of a shark-
numbers are as the epitaphs, on the tombstones of them all;
the dead is but the thrall, and the dead is but the past-
why would they leave, oh why oh why? Why would they dare grow old, and live until they die?
My parents love, as they grow older each day, and-
why oh why, does one, pass away?
Copyright April 14, 2014