Close Caskets Chapter 2 Poem by wallace eaton

Eternal sleep, rest the soul, as it passes through the after life not yet seen but by death itself.Silent as a soundless echo whispering across a dry desert sand burned from years of worn down ambitions.Release me, Release me, the soul screams out in a desperate measure to escape the sealed steel sleeping box, cut to embrace a physical form paused in a horizonal position no more breathe, no more pressure, no more rebuilding the heart aching pain of life.Graveyard dirt covers what's left of a body shut down and drained from life.Life comes and life goes, but death is everlasting, that vanishing point of breathless existent.So life had come through birth, so it should go by death.Fear not what lay in the after life of unsure, knowing not what comes, as fast as it's given, which means life stood still, again life disappear like a trick gone bad, a unselfish idea lost and like dust evaporating in the wind.