Deprivation’s mark,
a trademark with evidence
equal to one’s depth.
I’ve been bereaving
over this message
sent out, with flags
pinned to headstones.
I am bleeding
the waters I must cross,
with the pain that sings
on an ocean of grey.
Bitter flavor
from iron coatings.
Sinister fervor
tramples over grains
piled upon humanity’s
limited remains.
I sting under sunlight,
surrounding myself
with slow-moving glaciers
capturing the night.
There are others
who’ve dreamed beyond
this recurring nightmare.
They are those
who are blessed
to be reborn.
They are what I
cannot become
until I die.
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