Stationed at odd waiting steads,
figures traipsing along endless coast
you peer at and are peered at
through flimsy facades, wringing
hands pressing temples, knotted
hands that have caressed the untouchable
vast scenery, blurring greens and reds until -
an abrupt disconnect, and you are no longer seen…
to be forgotten is unrealized bliss,
a lone heron one with the skyline at last
"I am the spirit of the dead,"
They talk through me
The living must walk the halls
Life is the wrong
"Sing the song of silent breath"
Essence of warmth is a sacrilege,
All must be cold in
Will not be found, all must release themselves
From the torture of life
"Only death is eternal"
I have taken many,
"I am telling you this,"
There is a
You will sleep in persistent peace
Like the rest,
So many immortal in
The halls, each have a place,
"The missing are never to be found"
Prey with relief, when I release your burden
"I Am The Spirit Of The Dead"
Life is fleeting the only comfort is in death
Invisible like the spirit never known or seen,
You don't even realise I'm out there, culling the herd.
The spirit speaks through me, all life ends cold.