The beauty of this world
Has gone awry,
Black and white colored
rainbows
Ache of sadness,
Wilted flowers
Bleed colors into muck
And the call of the wind
Is empty and hollow.
A funeral hymn prolongs
Without lyric
Without secession
An unending monotonous duration
Of a dismal melody,
With contorted voices
Inviting the uninvited,
Enticing the sorrowful
To fester and wallow
In a mournful song.
Here they lay
Resting in dismay
Above ground
While the stench of decaying flesh,
Strikes sharp
Rancid and sickening
Filling the air
And poisons the arid soil.
A caution sign for a tombstone
Hangs overhead is inscribed:
"This is where dreams come to
die."
Olsfred James 2016©
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