Flowers nap above the body
As the spirit sets free to soar.
The voiceless sing through cries.
Love shells pain through the door.
We men gently settle the casket.
My thoughts draw around the widow
To the loneliness of love
And the wails for the parting that grow.
“Old men in gray suits lead them.
That’s a web of a mess we coiled
In the wasteland of deserts
For pipelines of oil!”,
The cynic free in shackled minds muse,
Never knowing the costs of the words they use.