untitled for now

[monolith94]

Who shall laugh at a funeral?
The madman or the monster?
What day, then, this or the next,
is free from ash, is free from death?

We looked for death and found it
in our blasted deserts, and in the hushed fields
in our winecups and coinpurses
in the very kiss of peace.

What choice have we but to mourn
From dawn to dusk, in cold and heat?
What running is there from our tears,
When running is surest defeat?