We were attached
by the same red string.
Except ours is wrapped around
our necks and each
time it gets harder and harder
to breathe; love wants
us together, but yet fate says
we simply cannot be.

Sandoval

Death is ill timed, never expected
  and awkward for those left behind.
  Funerals are Death's surreal plays.
  Tears won't always come on cue.

  It's bad luck to talk about death.
  We speak kind of the dead. We don't
  talk of their human frailties.
  We deny our own sins and theirs.

  We forgive the world for our sins.
  If we never lived in your creation
  with temptations forbidden we'd
  never suffer birth and death.

Oh you fickle being, you.
Always one to never shy away
From opportunities of affection
To spread your wings and take flight.
But sadly,
You soared too high every time
Always too close to the sun
And spiralling down you go
Into the bottomless pit below.