I was not buried. Nor taken. I was… misplaced. A shadow misfiled by the divine. The bells once rang in mourning grey, for names the earth had turned away. But mine - no chisel dared to claim, no stone to hold my borrowed name. I walk between what breathes and rots, forgotten by both men and gods. A soul unfit for sky or clay, adrift in dusk that will not pray. Oh, ring the bell between the graves! Let time confess what it enslaves! I was not sin, I was not grace just silence carved in shadow’s face. The gate was shut. The hymn unsaid. Now even ghosts forget their dead. The clock refused to mark my hour, its hands too clean to name my fall. The doves were blind, the priest a tower of marble with no voice at all. They dressed my bones in chapel dust, and sang of mercy out of rust. But I remained, behind the veil too faint to scream, too loud to fail. And if I scream… who listens now? The earth is deaf. The sky disavows. My name… was never written down. Just whispered once. And lost… somehow. Oh, toll the bell for souls unsaved! For those the light forgot to crave! I haunt the cracks in sacred stone the space between what stands… alone. No blood, no fire, no final page just me… and this… unending stage. If one should knock, and hear no call know I am there, behind the wall. Not damned, not blessed, just left to be a nameless hymn… in minor key. I was not buried. I was… misplaced.
