Kaputt.

we are all broken...to hundreds of shreds..to thousands of pieces..some of us don't know it yet..but we all are.
and while we try to breathe and sift through life...we equally summon death and his chariot.
the fear grows...

• and the mirage we see among the mist becomes a moist almost felt. and as 

  he comes...bringing gripping terrors...an eerie dirge til we go deaf...
• the velvet swamps, muddied faces, coarse and ripped hands...desperately trying to huddle us for hunger, they become real-faint but surfacing the soils of the ancient ..
  
  
  until no betrothed shall ever sing the song of love...

  no mother shall ever lull an infant... no father shall make a skillful woodwork...no priest shall ever sing worship of god.