When death walks in,
like quiet shammers in solumn thaught, it approaches gently.

In quiet times not anticipated, unaware of dark, light operates the hear of the grieving.

Death brings the seperated together, and questions the faith of non-believers.

They say death has power,..
death is weak, it takes over bodies awaiting rest, and claims its title.

Faces of mourners flow with rivers in streams of shadow,
when death walks in it gets loud.

I lift death and drop it to the faces of the unfaithful, making them aware that death is there.

When i grieve, mourn and cry
death walks away..
leaving the mind to think how powerful death can be.

--End--