hymns on the grave

shaken like storms in the core of the almighty plan we are singing out loosely like hymns on the grave where the ageless go tally up sums of the day to exonerate forces that stretch out for miles and retrieve that old burden that keeps us in shape for the future to come is a light house on land
If we drum up the friction that lubricates life we may draw from the wreckage or sink in the sand