Death, so often romanticized, is ugly when met.

Like all the best judges, it is objectively set.

All that we leave are echoes of our past

That cause pain to those that hear them and won't let them rest.

The cause, the hope and the peaceful rest.

All are lies, meant to subdue those of us that are left.

The only truth is the reality,

That without you in it, we all detest