Hill To Die On

We all die
On hills painted white
With the memory of a stain
That lies
On the line of the future

Old ties
Are bleached in the sun
Weaker than a memory
But cut
Deeper than a dream

We all try
Clutching at half-hearted straws
What counts is falling short
To lie
Bloodied on some lost hill

How we got here
Hangs like importance
But our feet don’t know
The way home
There is no looking back

Asking why
Was nothing at the time
Just slippery seconds
Passing by
Too fast to count

We all try
With maybes in our belts
And daydreams in our coats
Stained white
With the memory of the future