For, although in this day and age
in which life and death are questioned,
life and death still go on.
For even the smallest breath
and the most insignificant death,
will steal your marching son.
Every moment, of everyday,
As you wait hopelessly by the door
He marches, unblinking.
And his tears have all come and gone,
They drained them, smiling, it was done.
Empty thoughts worth thinking.
A thousand miles away
Or a single step out of line
All eyes shoot down.
They are trapped in a single frame
The camera and the gun are the same
Death is a clown.
Screeching tires stumble sideways
The car flips, once twice, three times.
The water fails to drain.
A struggled breath lingers
Shivering hands and fingers
Is he in love or in pain?
A sudden blow to the head
No stars, only music plays
A swollen, shifted skull.
Invisible drums, out of time
Twisted tongues, out of line
A hospital life, worn dull.
With a march,
A crash,
A hit,
Even if death cuts in,
Life waits for its next dance.





