Grave thoughts

...and the worms come writhing in after
the black beetles have eaten their fill
of the once bright, young orbs that were my eyes.
Cursed, though, I do see still.

Six feet above,
my broken love
stands weeping in the rain.
So all unaware
the flower she bears
does naught, but prolong the pain.

Move on! I pray to speak.
Lo, the maggots have taken my tongue
and my ethereal self can only bear witness
as the tear-stained rose is flung

to wilt in the face
of this desolate place
here, where my mouldy bones reside.
Only this and her tears
to mark the long years
that have passed since I have died.

All works © 1997 damon@primenet.com