i will build a pyramid
i will use bricks made
from the ashes of the dead
and blood from those who
delivered them into the cold
mother’s embrace
the mortar–ah the mortar
every word uttered
from mouths darkened
by the pitch of hate
it will rise above clouds
survivors will be forced
to climb its steep steps
in spite of the thinning
atmosphere
atonement
comes at a price
and the damned and the dead
have an infinite number
of fingers to point
at the living
Words and Feathers 
I’ll tell my mummy you’re building a pyramid! Bricks made from ashes of the dead are very sturdy. Good choice, man!
~PR
Thanks, DD!
Wow! Just wow… 🙂
Thanks!
The living have fingers counted, but none the less deadly for that….
I love how the dead and the living are on equal planes in your dark and beautiful poem.
Just like in the real world. 😉
The real world? What is that??