the night was bleak, the sky grey
the world reached out to the end of days.
the car pulls slowly up to the gates
of the graves.
a shrouded boy, a rose in hand. fire in his eyes. lit cigarette
this quiet procession meets its final steps; at the place of the deceased
a blood stained glove his battered face
lacerations running deep from neck to waist
a final bow to an old friend
who met his end
a bloodlust burnt, saddness grew
the whole world vanished from me and you
here and in the blazing slew
burning all
he woke in the hospital bed
stitched together by the grim who said
"it's not your time to be gone and dead.
rose in hand....
lest one call to a friendly face.
lost a companion in his last haste."
he set the rose down on the cold hard grave
in a last embrace
and drowned in the life he was so hurried to waste