Not The End

Tis the end I see not
Bear we so much rot
Footprints of blood pass
Tress passers of glass scar as our inner souls resemble tar
As if hell is raising the bar
I stare up in the sky
Smeared grimly upon my face a sigh
Wish I the past sour days had lived as a lie
Words of language to express the sodden holes
Up to flood in sadness
the bones splintered by anger's claw
the ink lit paper held chained to the ground
Bound to the earth, the surreal dirt
the 12 full moons have come to sunrise
the rain that falls shall soon be ripped
left to the past, and stricken the clock at 12
fresh memories be bourn from our roots
and the stars as we look shall bring us the way