Somber is the evening air,
A place so low even darkness won’t go there.
And then a strike of lightning flares,
Filling the sky with copious glare.
The cackle of thunder soon does follow.
All to mark the next crack, so hollow.
But nothing is ever quite the same.
There lies missing an important name.
Without them present all seems lost,
Cutting back freedom has a cost.
Yet not in halls of ash do we lay.
For there are demons still to pay.
And the strike of the drum is so foreboding.
Time to take an oath to prevent eroding;
Damning down the lightless path,
Except for the bursts from the skies wrath.
Now lay the wreath at the base of the plinth.
Upon this rock lies the headstone thats his.

Declaration to his days.
Spent them in his own ways.

Judgement is gone from the lives of the departed.
For they now tread a place not charted.
By the bodies of the living and alive,
That place is not somewhere they can thrive.
Yet one day we all shall take it.
Tread down these halls empty and vacant.

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