Skulls.

You stumble over a sea of gayly colored
pebbles
(some bleetched and some a shaddowy crimson)
And through your eyes--
they are ony gems--
they are beautifully polished and
fit for the tops of king's crowns.

I (on the other hand) screech at the
customary sight of feastering flesh
(rotting off of their bones
which still fight for life),
but were they ever alive?

You, also, are wasting away...

I look down
I realize

...so am I.