My life is but years unaccounted for—
like change spent on bottled water.
Vanity is laughable in the eyes of the grave.
The ground whispers and waits to drink us up.

There is no 'new' to be done, had or seen.
There is no good that lasts, no oppression that stays.

So stand as weeds and flowers for a single season,
and the next one will grow in your place.

All is left spinning in a thoughtless world.


God please forgive me—I curse you as I grow like weeds.
I plead for redemption from this lifeless state.
Your love exists outside of death, and your presence remains.