Death Has Made It's Move

Breath-takingly quiet, filled with a sense of urgency, finding out that death has made it's move. Whiling away monthly hours, finds no favor with flowers sent here to bloom. Forgotten, lying in a heap upon the desert floor, sensing that life has been drained and will seek no more the answers of eternal youth. Standing in the distance, watching light float back and forth across the desert sands, sending a beacon, warning of things not from this land. Nor from this time in space, because there is no season best for dying, no time is ripe for it to happen. Always, just beyond the door, watering down words of wisdom, no one can fill their heads with thoughts held dear. So, forever, people standing near begin to stumble and fall, tripping over each other, falling through death's door.