Gather ye ‘round, fellow children of sadness
For madness and misery beckon once more
Imploring us all just to fall for a moment
Back into the days and the ways of before
If only to suffer aloud for a moment
Outside of the hell of concealing inside
The thoughts and emotions, such poisonous potions,
That unwanted tragedies force us to hide
For life can’t be lived by the dead and the dying
When such living hell remains buried inside
Infections of heart and of mind and of soul
Manifesting and nesting within our scarred hides
While outside, the world, with its misunderstandings
Continues to label, to point, and to stare
Unaware of the battles we’re losing inside
At a loss for compassion, refusing to care
So they dance on the coffins we've buried ‘bove ground
And they taunt and they tease and continue to hate
They pry up the bones of our failures and losses
Parading our ghosts and contempting our fates
Until, as before, we rise up from the ashes
As hell long since buried returns from the grave
And lives begin fading amidst the parading…
No longer the ghosts of regret, but the grave
The broken and tortured now breaking and torturing
Souls that seem so much more lost than our own
As the acts of our vengeance condemn more than save us
Another regret in the hell we call home
As the tangled and twisted procession continues
For the literal and the emotional grave
We bury our dead like we bury our feelings
And in the end, none of us ever is saved
We all are consumed and in some way exhumed
Though the dead and the dying are different, you see
For the dead are the ones somehow free of this tomb
While the dying continue to roam endlessly
An older poem, slightly improved upon. It is a metaphor for living life while we are alive instead of letting the past and woes hold us down.