the decay

we don't see, by and by we go.

we don't feel, slow and cold this wheel.

we don't sleep, dreams are hidden in the snow.

the insects are feasting with empty mouths.

footsteps passing as the shadows linger behind your haunted gait.

what was once the flesh has since decayed and transformed into wings stiff, pressed by the earth's mold.

chirping, the sound bouncing, as the friction vibrates on the leaves and ground.

the gray tombstone silent, so quiet.