i was an innocent traveling on,
watching the scenery, stumbling upon
myst’ries and secrets all scrawled in a book,
almost revealing, but i never looked.

all this time we remained unaware
with each generation is more weight to bear.

but i was a young man and ignored the call;
i had the pride that remained from the fall,
living a life so oblivious:
that mine’s the result of each previous…

still, so much time’s been thrown away,
trying to pretend that we’ve not gone astray,

but

this is my history, here with the ghosts,
moving through wet grass and grave marker stones.
whose are the remains left under my feet?
-souls who have gone now, their maker to meet.