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