We hide,
In the glory of our skins,
In the shame of our sins.
In the wake of our pain,
With nothing to gain,
Standing in the ever-pouring rain.
Our truest selves revealed,
Skin peeled,
By the gentle, swift hand of death.
Rather than rising to the stars,
We sink into the warm mud,
The essence of all that breathes.
Awaiting new life,
One without strife.
– Pihu J.