Tears do fall as rain from sky,
But no one cares about you or I.
As walk we do these greying streets
The ghost of us does fast deplete.
As breeze amongst the passing clouds
You and I drift high and proud,
No print in mud, no splash of feet,
Or so does seem, so incomplete.
Thoughts of what we once did dream
No longer hold that spark or theme.
We walk, or drift, until we pass
The gates of where we sleep at last,
And into world of tombstone grey
We pass, and slowly fade away.
(Image courtesy Joe-Roberts on deviantart.com)