Lament

I can't count how many times

I've seen the wooden box.

Void of toys and games,

or childish little props.

.

One of polished mahogany

with a deep blush of red,

spilling with sorrow and silence,

and housing the dead.

.

A body stuck in slumber,

trapped in a dreamless sleep,

with skin of the palest white,

and eyes unable to weep

.

for the loss that is theirs,

for the people left behind.

A life never lived;

A life always resigned.

.

Forever in her 'glory days',

blessed with immortality,

she remains a picture of youth

and content in her vanity.

.

If you saw her that way,

living on the clock,

you wouldn't be so quick to judge

with narrowed eyes that mock

.

the way we live in our moment

before the time runs out.

The sand is pouring too fast

and, sadly, there's no doubt.

.

You call us flippant and spoiled;

obsessed with what is spent.

Maybe if you knew the speed of time,

you'd understand how much it meant.