Burning flowers line the field where lonely figures stand,
For they are the ones who shall forever walk this land.
Near enough to touch, yet never fully aware,
Of each others presence, and in such state, they do not care.
Eternally as mannequins, they know of their own fate,
But unknowing of where they are or of what may lie in wait.
Unable to move, no perception of time or place,
All completely barren with no features on their face.
Is this the hell that preachers spoke of many times before?
Is this truly eternity, or is there something more?
Gazing towards the cloudless sky, forever they remain
Until the dawn that never comes, when they may walk again.

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