The journey was not meaningless,
but what purpose did it hold?
The memories are sweet,
though bitter they may be.
Almost too bitter for a lone soul to bare.
In the end, they are nothing;
not even there.
In the end,
nothing is there.

Screams may fill the air,
the sound may be deafening,
but there is no escaping.
Too many people won’t bring themselves to care
about the sound, about their neighbours, about humanity.

We are not alone,
but we have never been in a crowd.
We are not hopeless,
but hope is running out.
We are not doomed,
but salvation never seems to come.

How do you hold on
when there is nothing left to grasp?
How do you pull yourself out of a hole
when the rocks are filed smooth?
Who do you turn to
when the backs keep turning?
And when it’s all over,
who remembers you?

Murdered at the hands of leaders
who won’t bring themselves to see the errors.
The fear keeping the eyes closed
so the bliss of ignorance never goes.
The end brought by the ego
too proud to say a single word.

Some way, peace will come.
It may come bloodied with an axe,
bringing forth more suffering than ever before.
But eventually that will be the end.
The chaos, the fighting,
the wars, the hatred,
the pain, and then
The final scream
signifying the end of pain forever.
Though completely avoidable,
if not for the willingness to not see
that which does not serve you.

The rotting bags of flesh,
the smell of sweet death,
the emptiness of the souls,
and the hurt now left.
All at the cost of everyone.
All at the hands of humanity’s pride.

Meet me at the graveyard
where the vines grow wild
and trees cover the tombs.
Where we can take off our shoes
and step on grass so soft
yet so overgrown.
Where the spirits of those now resting
can enjoy our quiet company,
knowing they are not truly alone.

Meet me at the graveyard
where someday we will be sleeping
and sit with me on moss-covered benches.
Watch the sky with me
as it shifts slowly from day to night
and hear with me
as the cicadas start to play.
Smile with me as the world
takes on a new calm.

Meet me at the graveyard
where we will hold hands
and touch skin,
possibly for the last time.
Where our bones will grow frail
and become nothing but a memory
of what once was.
We can frolic through the flowers
and marvel at their dead-tired look together,
making comments on similarities
in how we feel.

Meet me at the graveyard,
down under the Earth.
Where the worms will whisper to us,
welcoming us to our new home.
We can lay in spaces next to each other
and reminisce on days once lived,
our ghosts longing for touch no longer felt.
The coffins will sigh
with the shifting of the ground
and the ravens will peck the eyes of those
who threaten to bother us.

Meet me at the graveyard
where our souls can finally rest,
woken only by guests
bidding us the best.
Where the trees will grant us shade
and the vines will sprout pretty flowers;
from you to I,
and from I to you.

Meet me at the graveyard
where our bodies will die,
but our love can live forever.