Following the corpses trail

Mourning tightens his deathgrip upon  
a coffee cup, eyes jaded dreary.
Calendars sprawl across the table,  
pages splayed in nonchalance;  
whilst notes struggle with  
overpopulation in their  
creased paper kingdoms.
 
Sunrise was traumatized unmovable as  
centuries sank into waiting oceans.
Death resigning to his own doorstep,
channeling power into the unassuming;
demise upon their fingertips.
As always, Mourning follows
the corpses trail.
Exhaling, the breath infects
relations crestfallen.
 
"Run" they urged, with inhuman  
vastness caving in on their voices;
the truth reflecting in their desperation.
So I did.