.

A thousand hands of skeletons reaching upward

Their fingers gnarled and bent

Hands of dead giants

Grasping at the only source of color they can find

A pale sheet of blue just out of reach

From which a light shines

One that the hands once knew

That will return color to their limbs

Yet, me and the wind like it here

Wandering through a graveyard just before the dead come back to life