Some

Some ride coffins Black and slick Completely round The best of linen interior For when your inbound Four feet laid under the ground. Some swim in tears Blue tinted, salty, and clear Drowning their cheers Pain always living in it Public with their lament Swollen eyes become slits. Some hide from fears Pressure stifling abilities Alien to feelings of tranquility Melting into the woodworks Like lost tribes of gloom Dead flowers which will never bloom. Some are searchers Seeking out the wretches Desperately taking accolades Like bones being tossed To rabid slobbering dogs Selfishly wanting their own applause. Some are procreators Breeders of hate Tearing the wombs Bleeders of hearts Butchers of gentleness they filet Lost souls for the ones who disobey. Some take things farther Openers of closed doors Never sitting still Builders strengthening others wills Unselfishly bringing new beginnings To those of the nonliving. Some we never knew Like aimless doves flying Wrinkling moments in time With upside down smiles Painted onto canvasses Of blank faces…