A stiff existence in a world so blind,
Soft clouds turn to dust in a single blink of an eye,
The air of musk and mildew molds away as the plaster fades away.

The world a dismal place of incurable diseases and disillusionment,
As the final breath of death was pulled from the unyielding corpse,
The world continued on, a haphazard place of denial and loss.

Caught in the glittering web of destruction,
The world of dirt and ash in my hands through a black vinyl bag,
The assets between good and evil being a gourd and a crimson rose.

The blood seeps in to the surrounding dirt and roots,
A whimper from the weeping willow is the only sound this copse shall get,
As the final breath comes through, a vision of what awaits all flashes by.

The vision was not of some pearly gates or the depths of an eternal flame,
It's a vision of people, congregated around a wooden box with fake sympathy written on their brows,
Then nothingness, just the sound of the wind rustling through the willow reeds, a silent goodbye.