To Young Voices Everywhere…

Whose words hang on the edge of a precipice,
Admiring the  waters below,
From the safety of their homes

Whose hands are tied behind their back,
And whose poems are sharpened on a tongue of steel,
Set to silence,
By the borders tread into this very ground,
And the boulders docked at every port
From shore to sea

Whose pleas are ignored, 
As Gaea slowly decays beneath the weight,
Upon her shuddering shoulders,
And as our cremated embers are flooded,
Beneath her river of tears,
Corpses piling in her wizened hands.

The miracle of life slowly drains,
And spills from her shadowy figure, 
In a cascading stream,
Tumbling from her spindly wrists.
It leaks upon a forgotten threshold of the universe,

Set to reach a higher existence,
We become mere cinders of the decaying bodies we once were,

More than just people, but stories, piling upon the doorstep of fate
And awaiting the gates of heaven
This hell on earth quickly dispersing
Into nothing more than a fairy tale, 
Of mankind's imagination.

This just came out of nowhere. I was writing late at night and honestly it sounds like a load of gibberish to me, but let me know what you think.