Take me to the cemetery
where souls go to die
may just find
the catcher in the rye,
some pass with
ashes in the sky,
while the others leave
their anatomy blind.
A saint and a muse
none of them
deserved to die,
then why
the untimely goodbye?
The saint will lie
far from resurrection,
the muse will lie
blinded by misconception,
we may never find
the catcher in the rye.