The King Is Dead
Like missing the soft gentle moon light,
While the sun harshly glares dessert noon bright.
Hiding behind sunglasses and a little black dress,
Underneath a face that's a mess.
Survivors breathing divine grief,
Mourning the loss of their celestial chief.
The sting of having loved and lost,
Loss is love's greatest cost.
In an endless cloudless sky,
Pray up as you whisper good bye.
The dead are not sad for no longer being here,
Just the living left to mourn and fear.
An end will come to that endless day,
Eventually pain passes away.
Healing is never early and death is never late,
To be twinkling stars is everyone's fate.
Brave acceptance lies in that vision of night,
In the stars of the heavens mystical twilight.
Look up to the heavens past the glare of the sun,
See stars to the left, the second to last one.
Without a body and without breath,
It's winking and joking even in death.
He's a star in the ever so twinkling sky,
For people never truly die.
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