Come to the Beautiful City of the Dead,
where all forms of the past were led,
though the gates where each visitor will pay respect.
and every stone in the yard is meant for rest.
a place where darkness is reality,
happiness here is it's residents immortality.
where dreams are filled with life,
but in truth they are of death, there own in fact.
And where gifts consist of mourning flowers,
to only be cut down and withered within the first few hours.
and six feet, is the depth were every resident calls home,
and a welcome mat for each one, each written in stone.
Though day in and day out, no matter how many times you try,
you will one day wake up clawing at the ceiling of your grave,
everyone is destined to die one day.
If there's a puzzle to the world,
then this beautiful city is just another piece.
but we all end up it's populace in the end.
because eventually your life will unexist
you will depart and seis
I don't quite know what to say about this poem. I like it, yes. It gives me this sort of feeling that I can't quite explain. Curiousity maybe. Either way, it intrigued me. I really like it. Keep it up.