Who is to blame?

Right across the frozen river they sat,

Right below the hardy palm snow clad.

They laughed and recollected the days gone by,

The days they spent with this long gone lad.

Some riots of laugh they made,

Some sighs on the issues they did hate,

Those sighs though were less enough,

As they together met after a very long decade.

Amidst those riots and sighs,

They sat unaware of the incoming plight,

With his wicked oar and rusted boat,

The Charon approached near for his daily freight.

These days his job has been hard really,

As rounds doubled for the valley,

With souls of innocent and guilty-old and young,

All alike to be taken along.

Along came a patrol of uniforms,

Tired of the endless, sleepless nights,

Tired of the bureaucracy above uptight,

And tired of the hazy war.

The custodians of the law,

Suspicious of the laughing lads,

Suspicious of the way they sat,

Loaded their service weapons.

In a few seconds next,

The territory the custodians annexed.

Neither were they happy,

Nor were the wet snow covered bodies lying next-to-next.

What was the biggest crime?

And importantly most, whose was it the most?

Was it of the lads who had a more neutral stance?

Or was it of the custodians who had visions blurred too much?

Was it of Death, that played such a wicked trick?

Or was it of the Charon and his wicked oar?

Or was it of the situation that had been prevailing?

Or was it of those who created them all?

With all questions unanswered, stood up the peers,

From the bodies they had been living in, for their brief years,

Calling the names of the Creator out,

Boarded all of them the rusted boat.