Requiem

Three past midnight, stormy skies

Waves of the ocean hitting shore rocks hard

They expect an answer to the question "why?"

A joyous whisper, inside my skull:

"It's our pleasure, at last you arrived.

Let go of your past - we don't hold grudge"

"You were born again, by the golden sun.

This is your lighthouse, a gift from us.
Come play here, we show you around."

"Marbles and stones, was our holy game.

We lost the marbles, you want ten stones?"

These all happened the day you died...

July thirty first, nineteen sixty nine.