Of Those Sleeping Under

Down down below, they silently sleep,

In the Earth, so brown and black.

They were so different, now as if at peace.

And above them is heard, the cries and the sobs

Of those who are afraid of the end

And of the things that lurk under.



Unsaid, unspoken words from under

Uttered not by the rotting tongues of the sleeping,

But rather by he who is at wit’s end.

As they stand all wrapped in black

Dabbing away at the water of their sobs

A ritual in a circle around the rest in peace.


What do they know of peace?

Fools dreaming of the world down under,

Not dreams, but nightmares and violent sobs.

In the dark, they will find no sleep,

Their lights are on, afraid of night black

Holding their breath for night to end.


For they know little of beginnings and even less of ends

As their small minds battle for peace,

Do the dead care when they wear black?

Do they think to mourn changes anything for those under?

A futile attempt to reach them in their sleep,

If there is a way, it isn’t through prayer and sobs.


But the dead don’t sob,

The dead are at an end.

They do nothing but sleep

And they know no peace,

Only their discarded remains lay under,

Wasted skin and bodies of rotting black.


They have faded to black

They can’t hear your sobs.

They aren’t there, under.

They are lost to the end,

Nothing remains, no turmoil, no peace

No, they are not merely asleep.


One day we will fall asleep and awaken in black

Only white peace remains and soon we will sob.

It is our end? as they lower us under

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