Smiles fade

As people perish.

Lives trade

With the symphonies

Of the dead

And visions emerge

From the head.

People ask

If we're ok

It's a hopeless task

So we answer

With 'I'm fine'

Though we're not.

And day by day

We slowly rot

And answer the same question

Over and over.

We silently wish

To be taken away

By a four-leaf clover.

Smiles fade

As people perish

But really,

We are the ones perishing.