Ashes to Ashes - Original Writing

Ashes to Ashes - Original Writing ... Ashes, Dust, Dust burned solemnly the priests when a man loaded hot and dusty mounds on the coffin. When I noticed my best friend disappeared forever, hot tears caught my eye. We stared there looking straight at the monument shining in the morning sun.

I wrote inside the fire of a tire like the sea 100 years ago because I have very few way to send information. All the papers here are always ash, returning to the paper again, then becoming ash, and who knows - it could just be a trick. Anyway, there is nothing to write. It is very hot here and I feel that the place is always moving. I am accustomed to inserting myself inside a volcano and in such a place, so I can not imagine asking for an extraction, and some of my choices live here. I have to say that the smell of sulfur is better than that of the burning rubber. All I did was smell like rubber, so I ate my own poem.

My father died on March 11, 2011. That's Friday, not Wednesday. He will be buried on Sunday. Trappist monk Thomas Merton wrote that the ash of ash on Wednesday is correctly considered to be the victory of Christ against death. Ash is like a victory. My father's death is not like a victory, it is a long-running failure sigh. I woke up at 6 o'clock that morning, I do not know why I woke up. My mother fell asleep on the chair next to the bed in the hospital's hospital corner room hospital. I am in a folding cot near the wall. Like our room, that building has about 15 beds. In the center of the building there are nurses and staff as well as public places. There are flowers in the public land, there is a television being broadcasted big and quiet.