Coal and ice in little tombs
with aching buds and winter blooms
poking through the freshly frozen rain.
Calling fortunes dreamt in fields of lace.
Fuel and frost in potters field
their differences long since revealed
recognize the lonely fleeting flame
darkened by the freshly frozen rain.
Stuck inside this prison cell l
luck's a shotguns empty shell,
as if to say this life was never planned
and a dusty flag of white falls in your hand.
Life was lost at cost to sell
and death, it wore a hidden veil
playing like a haunted parlor grand
as if to say this life was never planned.
