Funeral Grey

When I see things.

A skeleton stood in front of me today,

complete with a cane and wings.

Those eyes withheld a funeral grey,

his lips sown with strings.

He spoke one word of sorrow,

as he stood naked in the cold. 

Hinted of a wasted tomorrow,

of this alone he foretold. 

Protracted fingers extended forever,

inviting me to a world of stars. 

Vaguely I realized I tried to endeavour,

what was his and what was ours.

Tonight I may think of his world of slate,

and dream of our fate. 

Author's Note

This one's shorter, but I hope it's alright.