Good Young

How could the tide that stretches out
Create a bond that surfaces amongst the level of catacombs
That free crows and create spirits for black roses to dwell in?
Feasting on what used to be breathes of flesh
Denied by a beat of an organ
Eventually replaced with depression, how?
Thought about non-consistently, but forever.

How must joy be carried away?
Pre-prediction ,
Leaves a closed innocent eye next to an open glisten
Letters giving gifts of sadness to raindrops that hit one’s face hardest.

How does knowledge hit so, shallow,
Cries hit so lightly,
Skies change transparently to moments,
One word effect one many?
Those left care nonchalantly,
But nature feels for negligence and tire.

How does an eerie sensation of giving up let you know of pain,
Does the future tell why?
In the end what does the world gain?

Why me?


-Ebony Jones