As perpetual cycles pass, we say goodbye.
Living is a process, end goal to die.
Walk among weathered cornerstones,
Forgetting those buried souls that lie.
Inflated dreams of nightmarish grin
Infesting your core, crawling skin,
Fearing this place yet feeling at home
As demons dance with impish kin.
These flowers for beauty are kindly marked,
But they breath malice, like a dying lark,
Aroma masked by rotting stench of rest,
Eroded bodies whose souls embarked.
These stones said to mark identity,
Soon forgotten by time's infinity,
And each soul that rests underneath
Has met their own eternity.
From dust to dust, and ash the same,
In mediocrity or unfathomed fame,
All fall prey and meet one fate,
Young and spry, feeble and lame.
For some will, the living, weep
For loved ones Death's hand will reap
And cast into a sleep of dreamless state,
Mourning a life not their's to keep.
And as night falls, in darkening hues,
Your courage, now, an abandoned ruse,
But one day, you'll soon return.
This fate is one you can not choose.
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