Wax myrtles slip
Sideways on bodies-
Their brothers, 
Buried beneath fresh soil 
Of an ancient Earth,
Mixed amongst
The loblolly pines
That caper with the breeze.

* * *

Sad nights shift
To dreary days
And ashen clouds 
Soak in the light
Until they all 
Ignite in flames
And lose their strength 
Or will to fight.
They lie alone 
In sheets of wind
On beds of air 
And thoughts,
And, patiently, 
They wait to end
Their lives 
And be forgotten.

* * *

Long after,
We sit and wonder
Whether palatial skies
Will fall like rain
Away from us,
Torrents of dreams
Abandoned
For to sleep.