I know why some end,
I know why some dont like the rain,
I've followed the steps,
in the sands,
and cried when I saw where they were heading.
I know pain beyond,
past any horizon..
I know regret,
that leaches the white,
and crumbles the fibers of bone,
Leaving holes in and out,
for any possible music notes,
to played behind the two glasses,
broke by a toast.
A drop of remorse,
becomes a lake of tears,
and these tears,
fill fast and deep,
rivers called veins,
refuse to run ,
once the meat is cut away..
I know why life is ended,
even though existance is a question at times ,
perhaps the end shines some light,
for our birth cry.
I know why some dont like the rain,
we love far more than we remember,
and as we walk a little behind,
in the footsteps common dirt,
left by all,
we drown in rivers,
unable to hold our own heads up..
Infants scream,
exalting in life,
the weak and weary leave a sigh..
Is existance a circle?
or a box we share..
Well organized.
©gothic
G