You hang lifelessly atop this murky lake
Slowly being washed over by January water
Drowning the dead as our past regressions are laid to rest
Everything you were: reduced to ash
Taking space in this velvet pouch
Ceremoniously released, to help this selfish mortal toil
Forced to continue moving, as the currents take you
And the fish consume you
Forced to become something you have no control over
Reworked into human condition
No reward for your servitude, unjust rebirth
Selfish as mortal creation
Plagued by man's conditioning to honor their dead
You keep moving, not who you were, but what you are now
Time falls apart, around you
Loose sands in a liquid hourgla**
Ash becoming mud
Your memory a murky sediment, in distant river beds
Aging again, as if you haven't endured enough
Becoming lye and holding on as your existence gets washed over
You were never pure enough to cleanse this loss
Irony becoming an acceptable consequence of birth
It was always in your nature, dormant in our name
Wallower, swamp dweller. Clan of Kerr