Lies Conquer All
Gone are the words of Donne.
Forever silent, yet echoing in dark tunnels.
Where, but for a short time above, we must lie in whispered grace.
Icy warmth doth make our bed, for the living to one day tread a sorrowful course.
No tear shall dive from youth's whitened cheek, some ancient prayer stolen by many to represent few.
And, the multitudes wail a mournful song, slipping, now, beneath earth's blanket, we lie for it comforts us to do so.
Heaven-bound, their chant grows louder, higher, deafening still.
But, Donne does not hear, nor see, nor care, for his past meets the present where the lamp of life shineth not.
