come one come all
to see the apathy
to witness tragedy
the fame and fortune
the game ends in june
the name died too soon

all those
olden titles
tales of the late
soft spoke mysteries
entitled histories
forgoten stories
because of you

burnt to the ground
yet your empire grew
you left behind a trail
how we never knew
your secrets spilt
your identites spew

gilded ashes
paved the way
you taught us to follw
not to stray
every command
every lie
we let it pass
let you get by

an unwritten song
never to be sung
your entire world
the peirced lung
your forgetting friends
youre forgotten

youre rotten.

Vicious, firey mountain
Once fumed with rage
Lashes out with hot rock and
Clouds of dangerous ash.
And once the mountain erupts,
No one can escape it's wrath—
Oh, that vicious volcano.

From the ashes of the dead, new life is born
And hope will rise like the sun on Easter morn
The same fire that ravages, gives warmth and light
The same fire that destroys, on a candle, is a welcome sight
We will rise again on the wings of the dawn
We will dance with the joy of a newborn fawn
It is a chance to rebuild, restart, and renew
To see what beauty lies hidden from view
From out of the ashes, we will rise again
We say: "Let it be done" Amen
From the crucible of fire, we will survive
Having been purified, we will now thrive
The loss is real, but it mustn't feel
Like the end. It is a brand-new start
And the memory will remain here in our hearts
I truly believe that out of the ashes we will find
Evidence of something profoundly divine
That in its wake there will come a grand revival
An awakening of faith that will have no rival
There will be a day of great jubilation
Where people will come from every nation
To join hands and hearts as sister and brother
Where peace resides and we love one another
From these ashes, I pray we will remember
That life is fleeting, and life is a treasure
But we will rise above the ashes and dust
To find something in which we can trust

He will forever be
in his poetry notebook
behind my black-and-white poster,
next to ashes—his ashes—I smuggled
through customs in two different countries,
thinking he'd probably do the same for me;
After all, he was the one who taught me
how to smuggle things through airports in the first place.

We would both laugh
that I managed to bring a part of him all the way here,
like we'd laughed when he brought **** in his backpack
from Canada to the U.S., and from the U.S. to South America.
Who can blame him? Canadians have the best ****.
I bet he'd like that I made the inverse journey
with him, or what I have left of him,
and that he's not just at the bottom of some ocean,
or worse, at our mum's.

Engulfed in flames
The inferno consumes me
Dancing across my body
In a dangerous ballet

My skin
Charred and melting
As I incinerate
Until I am nothing more
Than a pile of ashes

But suddenly
I rise
Up from the ashes
Not letting anything hinder me

I said what I thought

I knew about dust, that it --


does not turn to dust.