Destiny lies like the dust that gathers ,
until the silence of feathers sweeps it away into a hollow hole .

Mortal men die when their lifetime is over
and their destiny is found where heaven has made a home for the soul .

There is no room left and the graveyards are full of silence
where only peace is alive and the graves are left alone .

In city of cold corpses where money cannot buy you a home ,
how much of the next world can we ever own?

By Paul McCann