Playing god and pointing
|
fingers in every direction
|
but our own is a
|
beautiful way to live.
|
Creating heavens out of
|
ashes and reaching towards
|
the sky with every
|
pedestal possible.
|
We've taken two steps
|
out of a thousand.
|
One small step towards
|
understanding, and one
|
giant leap towards murder.
|
Look up at the sky and
|
the wrists we've slit.
|
Sucking the blood
|
straight from the veins.
|
Take a deep breath and
|
make excuses for why
|
it burns your lungs.
|
These skylines stand
|
like cemeteries with
|
headstones for us all.
|
This has risen
|
from bare ground,
|
everything we fabricate
|
and call beauty.
|
This is beauty with a
|
gun in its mouth.
|
This is not
|
what was intended.
|
Imagine walking in open
|
fields with the ashes
|
of generations sifting
|
below your feet.
|
Stepping over centuries
|
of failure that have all
|
come down to this.
|
Serving an immediate purpose
|
with an everlasting effect.
|
Mother, this is a sign
|
of our gratitude.
|
Ripping the umbilical in
|
half before conception.
|
Your eulogy spilling
|
from our cracked lips.
|
We are your sons and daughters.
|
We rake open your chest and
|
watch the heart come to stillness.
|
|
-----------------
|
A Eulogy On The Lips Of The Dead
|
| Endthisday |
