It’s not that you don’t care anymore,
that stupidity or cowardice has taken you;
you’re simply sick to death,
of what all the caring has done to you.
You were made to let go of everything
that you had or even could,
have ever truly wanted;
or so at least you thought.
But the after-life was not so bleak
nor desolate, as you’d imagined.
Absolved of pain in the eventide,
an echo comes around to claim
what’s left of all that had remained,
when you walked away at last.
But now you’ll only wonder if
you’ll need to feel the same.
The flower petals reigned,
the soldier’s volleys roared.
The sun was setting in the west,
when love claimed you once more.