I feel like I’m walking a misty stair
twisted, under cared
despair, in disrepair
a grim laire, with tread bare,
with bread scarce, and legs wear
dread pressed in thin air
the dead dressed in threads bare
with slim face, a dim stare
the lungs gone, they aren’t there
the cheeks long, the flesh tears
the breath old, the blood cold
the sweat molds to wept soul
the ghosts hold a long pose
Who goes there, Were you told
I know nothing, have no hold
the stair winds, but who goes
the dust rail, a rust bold
a trust sold, a hand fold
I march on, but don’t gain
I climb high, but stay same
I hear voice, but no name
they speak words, without say’n
They reach in, but don’t claim
They look close, and don’t blame
I lose stride, but still rise
they grab arms, they bring sighs
we all march in grey strides
my sight greys to their eyes
the bright days, for their lives
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