Lilting Death Poem by Kim Jones

When hurt becomes no one,
When pain becomes hurt,
When the blood-red skies,
Call my name,
I will be the one to hold up,
Up the sky and up the problems,
Having no time for my own,
I become settled for a world of gray,
And when I go to work every day,
I gain the biggest lie,
The lie no one had time to deal with,
And it ended up competing with the sky,
Yes, yes, that very sky,
Which I hold upon my shoulder,
And back then I always asked why,
Now as the cold strips me of my dignity,
And steals my heat,
I have only to wonder if they will ever find my cold, shell of a body.