[?7hThe Burial of the Dead

On this coldest day,
Of frozen ground,
And chilled heart,
There is a mound of dirt and ice,
One last remembrance,
Of those who past before us-

I have seen trains that never stop,
Carrying passengers to another place,
I pray this journey I never take,
I pray this land Winter forsaked,
And in all the know how of what we
  truly are,
There is no mercy in the frozen sky
For those passengers that remain,
In the maddest world of God's creation-

Dying...
In everything we do,
Dying...
Words that will never touch,
Help,
Or see...
The dead looking down,
Smiling on all the dead towns,
Fate hears our voice,
As the ice beneath our feet breaks,
And like the smallest life caught in
  humanity's perpetual web,
We drown-

Through the woods, and up a small path,
We made our cemetary,
For in every society
The burial of the dead precedes
The making of new life,
Hidden deep in the wilderness,
We dug the shallow gaves,
For people we do not know,
Who might be alive,
Who dig with us every step along the way,
Unknowing, blind,
On this coldest day-

And when they die...
We will find a place to cover their bones,
Not in any consecrated ground,
But in this graveyard of lost souls,
And there will be no more tears,
Only the path that leads out of the wood,
Into the serene beauty...
Of the last rites
Of this Winter night-

(c) Mister E. of Re
ality Productions
all rights disturbed