the fight

we take for granted the seconds we waste
we live out lives on a faster pace
with no care of what the morrow will hold

and with that we are.

a step closer to ruin each day
most of the lot, lost in the fray
that dreadful sound when the line goes flat
the wrenched thought that they wont come back

the sorrowful tears soon to be shed
the dishearten sobs are all to be said

yet i shall give a toast
for the dead, the sprites, and all the ghosts
they shall not be forsaken by the ones who love them most
and shall now forever reside with our celestial host