Who we are

As we grow old
Our time will run short
And in this vestibule we will waste away
Waiting in moribundity
And as we lay on that final bed
What final thoughts will race through that head?
A glint of every beacon lost
A necropolis of dreams and moss
And there you are destined slowly to rot
Along with every aspiration shot
And they will search the scene from head to toe
But tell me this, what more do they know?
The swan song will echo throughout the desolate tomb
For from the start we were sentenced to doom

Now from day one, this here boy was hollow
And all they said, he did swallow
Choked down every empty word
And left this race once more uncured
But buried beneath a throats stratum of tar
Lies a mark much deeper then any scar
For there was a seed
A gods last plead
A prayer for it to fulfill and nourish
But deprived of oxygen it could not flourish
And the hour of death did falsify
The sweetest words; “Just on time”


by jaylynn
posted on 12/31/1969