Death

As your loved ones, they place heavy stones on your face
Your sonnets of life, they are filling the case
High windows inside me, look down on your face

Changing white fingers for men in the sand
Burning bright spears that you hold in your hand
Grey children you've spawned, they just won't understand

As the slow pulse of sobbing dries up from the sky
My grief in red circles, surrounding an eye
Grey child stands looking and passes on by