A little morbid

Standard

Broken cycle

Hollow tones are singing

Making sound of hallowed ground

And in my ears what’s ringing

Is the wrongness that I’ve found

For underfoot are boxes

Filled with what should be returned

Under lids with locks and

Removed from cycle earned

I feel my heart is breaking

As it pounds against my breast

Surrounds me-life forsaken

Dusty treasures, concrete chests

My bones can feel the wrongness,

Such a cold and bitter ache

This knowing that’s been long stressed

The circle’s set to break

Death’s to me no ending

There’s life among the bones

Flesh is fodder pending

Return to earthly home

Upsets me not, such feeding

Or breeding on the shell

When time has come for leaving

The form in which I’ve dwelled

Disturbing more-entombment

To rot alone-true death

Not musky new enwombment

For smaller creatures breath

This septic space I’m walking

Cries for breaking ground

The dead to me are talking

From under weighty bounds

I wish I could release them

Stir bones to fertile earth

But flesh un-rot’s been poisoned

And return would make it worse

 

 

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One response »

  1. All things have their end but thats just nature thats just making room for new life. Cycle like you siad. and it hurts but its life. Its part of who we are.

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