Melancholic choices hangs from my crooked neck
Epitaphs, the past of pain reigned, forward to rest
Bled dry with falling tears crystallizing my cheeks
Fumbling and stumbling through the grave yard dare I seek
The cost of our lives are the feelings left behind
You can’t reverse the rising sun only the blind
Shoring up the walls are not needed for six foot deep
And the ways to heaven and hell for some are steep
© 2012 Michael Yost 06/05
