Nothing is ever simple

Nothing is ever simple

The words of the dead

Whisper unheard

The living lie

On frozen sheets

As bleak as any winter

Wishing to be somewhere other

Than where they are

Too many souls

Left to suffer

Perched on the edge of death

Waiting for the reaper

Nobody told them

What to do

There is always grief

A plenty

Fresh cut stalks

Headless blossoms

Grass growing as tall

As the scythe allows

Ghosts walk

Sight unseen

Dreamers find comfort

In their belief

We are as one

Ending is progress

Of a sort.

Cross my palm with silver

It is a long night

Watching starlight

And waiting for the dawn

Babies are born

To be remembered

There is always love

To compensate,

For sorrow and grievers

Wait for the moment

To stop the clock.

Raise the alarm

There is to be no more

Complication

Simplicity is the key

To open the door

Throw it wide

Set the living free.