this is a poem I wrote about a reader who died a week ago. So this is would be a nihilistic diatribe decending into theology.

in prayers of shadow and life
hours leade of the final breath
in the mind of those in fall
among the souls that create a wall
beneath the memories and death
that we become in the final
that become the birth of seven
that be in the fires of hell
and the gates of the forgotten heaven
death of those who come falling down
memories that break with the crown
from the shadows of death and life,
the path of the valley of death
I -- the one who stares at the unknown
the dreams that walk among the Nile,
fallen before the hands of God,
when they all realized,
all in death that become
nor I -- become among the place of dying
that becomes the lie of fears
which become the escape of the future
that we refuse to say or speak,
from memories,  we cast to fall,
cast down from prayers of silence
from writings created upon the walls
from an absentee God we continue to seek
where He looks down and laughs
observing like he doesn't care,
into the gathering of the lie of our years,,
the lie that becomes what we live,
from the life we can no longer give,
beneath the salvation of empty skies,
dwelling among the place of God,
fallen before the lies of the truth,
damned by all time of my shadow of youth,
gathered in the times where we begin,
that becomes our demise within our sins.
from the all that fallen before the eyes of God,
in the becoming of the shadow of prayers
among the obituaries of the unpenned
become the memory of the unsound mind,
that become among the forlorn pages,
as which becomes inked in the journal of the blind,
which all leads to the echo of the final end,