The Grave Dug Over

The blood-dimmed sky lights up the day,
The past is mourned by the rising sun,
The path before mine own foot hath drawn,
Weather good nor bad cannot be known.

The road not taken is one that is too wide,
Mine feet begin to move on their own,
Knowing exactly where they want to go.
Over the mountain, or under the sea,
Wherever and whenever they want to be.

The digging of their graves, pile by pile,
They ponder and smirk and carry on.
The hole is almost dug, their Will be done,
But that’s not the plan that must be won.

The morning sky bought new found hope,
Traveling down this road unknown.
Desiring the obsessions we want the most,
Completely different, we must boast.

The falling blood brings the end of the day
New found color lights the sky to dark,
In the end, the grave is filled,
The plan before has been concealed.

The feet fall back to their rightful place,
Planted on the ground, with firm embrace.