The Headstone, worn out and fissuring at the edges, stands alone;
Etched deep into the charred rock was a name; one which is now gone.
I glance at the bloodstone, and wonder if they did atone;
Or did they stand stalwart in the mist, and fail to move on?

Did they suffer in silence as the fire cleansed the earth,
Of their meaningless existence? In the end, however, hard they tried,
They indeed did not matter; with no chance of a rebirth
The scorched corpse hovers above ground, yelling

“You are just a grain in the sands of time!
Just like me, desire and fulfillment will pass you by
As the colour which you were born with, leaves your eyes
So your prime shapes itself easily
Into the Fallen remnants of mine.”