It died a natural death.
Tell anybody who asks,
It died a natural death.
Not by the fiery battery of anger blows,
The incessant clammering of spear-words,
The sting that leaves you low,
Labouring for breath amid a torrent of tears.
It died a natural death.
How could it not,
When it looks at the rise of a new day with anguish,
Rejoicing that the day before was better than the one before that.
It died a natural death,
While you were counting the clouds,
Refusing to acknowledge the light gleaming through.
It died a natural death,
And you compared sunlight with moonshine.
You dug the hole,
Even as you got a tan.
It shunk a mile,
While you dreamt about gold at the end of rainbows.
Deeply buried, it is.
You play the puppet master,
When there is no puppet.
It died awhile back.
And no one ever knew.
