Follow.

Follow.

They can see through glass, but not the mind within
So they stop;
And they watch
Its white eyes.

The clock of life will not pause for them.

'We know more about the moon
than our own oceans'
But there is no death on the moon,
In the stars
Or in a still heart, where death has left.

They saw pity,
Anger, maybe fascination
But they did not see
Death

Rare? Yes, and no;
When what they take for granted has faded
Nothing else is left.
Living is greed, a yearning for warmth,
Until all is silence and forgetfulness.

They say, forget.
Condolences, poorly disguised apathy,
or Grief met with forced sympathy

Could they seep into the ground, towards gravity,
Reach a conclusion within empty skulls, silver arteries,
or specks of dust?

They say, forget.

Maybe then
You will come back
And see through your white eyes
Just to whisper,

'Follow.'

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