five years,
five to die,
come back live.
the creases still jut to the barren abyss,
once tormented,
dark,
bewildered,
unknowing
sunk past seemingly tangible moraines,
folds keeping what nothingness in,
now gripping tethered to some quiet foe.
the way is one every man goes
"what now of your nothingness?", hinged upon plights;
might one possibly squirm at the foot of some Might?
some Might so entangled in unknowing,
that,
it's might erodes consciousness?
Sedimentary Sleep to the living,
may be forged, let us to the fire,
what's hiding there underneath,
surely's thought to conspire.
if at all to be learned, then to rot our graves turned...
