burying the dead

the field looks like an old blonde man's head
broken brown grasses mixed with unrelenting frost
except where the blood colors it crimson
sometimes the jobs we must do
suck our soul's joys
like burying the dead
someone must do it
no matter how unpleasant
i don't suppose as he walks that field of heartache
his heart finds no joy as another lifeless face
a face that used to laugh and love
stares up at him and he thinks of loss
how do i walk through the valley
the valley of the shadow of death
creative roles lying lifeless in the dust
loneliness my dear friend
while i put shovel to hard ground
how to lay down it being about me at all
serve another's legacy
there may come a day when the burial is done
when my poor attitude is finally laid to rest
and He makes a way where there seems none
so today i cry again and shoulder my burden
the view ahead is hoary
Thank God i do not walk alone