we are the dead

we sit in our dark circles and devour our own torment

to keep us from our mind.

when night comes we lay in fear of ourselves.

we trample lives under our feet and say we are not seen.

we are the dead.

 

the forgotten cry out for help, but do we pretend to hear? 

we have become so obstinate that we fool ourselves.

they reach blindly for a hope that they have forgotten

do we not see them? do we not hear their wails?

they are the dead.

 

the tree can only sit in silence, dreaming until it is slain.

we love to see them barren, their souls departed.

it has no choice, and its cry is not heard.

the ground holds all things dead.

the roots and worms twisting around each forgotten breath. 

it is the dead.

 

the sun weeps for her child, crying out to us in despair,

'because of all you've done, because of all you've destroyed,

you are the dead'.

 

the moon is weeping bitterly for his son, 

'oh, save yourself, my only son, for I fear they will not stop,

you cannot be the dead.'

 

and then...

 

the universe lets go a deep sigh, held in for hundreds of generations,

as they watch the lights flicker out on planet earth,

becoming, once again, dark and at rest. 

 

because we were dead, and we accepted our fate.