Where death and exotica meet,
Life stands naked in midst of our sacred hymns,
Shadow fighting is not actuality.
An essay on truth fades.
Someday I will pull down the curtain.
At the end of the road, death waits,
Apologizing for coming unannounced.
A white cloud drifts in our arms.
The deep sorrow walks with us and the empty home,
Now belongs to moonlight.
In nothingness, our achievement claims
A handful of victories, tossing here and there.
The empty words transport the dark lies.
The truth lies bleeding, and we flee from our predictions.