from one
forever eternally
the bodies of thousands
who, writ of the voice
made from the doubt
the mistrust
and of the suspicion
to be upon this paper lain
half-eaten
broken in body
and gentle in tongue

they will always curse
the night
for their bread daily
and for the feast
of knowledge
and of a truer heart

they will finally
break rank
and file
to then pick
lilac
from the meadow,
and lain across the fresh soil
they will soften
in the dew
in the snow
to vanish