You and I are missing things
set aside, forgotten.
Dust falls heavy on broken shoulders
dislocated by light.
We mourn the loss of something,
though we know not the tangible feeling nor the name of that we lack,
just that it has gone.
We see it in others, a smile placed,
a hand held, a tear dried
and wonder at it's heavenly release,
as we lay chained at Hades gate by our own hated disposition.
I will sing for you a song of death, while blackness seeps from unclean hands.
I pray that you will see in me
all that others fear
and find it glorious.