MonuMental

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