Prepare the beds
for the nocturnal read of book.
The wodden angels-
have arrived, carrying
the golden caskets.

O zero town,
your children are coming home.
There will be no interrogation
in this fusion of grief
and anger!

I refuse to take
a hoax call of death. The
moon becons for an eternal bliss.
Let the red eyes?
speak not of any pain.

The agony of crying sky
will not be said by any mourning
mother, when you throw the dust
unto dust. A new journey
had just begun.