Friday 29 April 2005

6 feet

6 feet under becomes food for worms
Days of mourning mean nothing to the dead
All they want is peace and the feel of rain.
Again.
A cross raised up in the memorial for a body uncaring
Words of grace for the graceless and angry.
Love for those hated in life
The falling leaves pile on neglected mounds
Slowly sinking into equality
With the earth around them
Well-tended with love or guilt
Flowers are as faded as the souls below them
Gravedigger hoists his shovel
Plodding across the lawn
He is one of the few irreverent ones
There is no need for him to care
His death only would cause him slight alarm
For then, he too, would be 6 feet under
And wishing for rain.

3 comments:

Anthrodoc_1 said...

Well crafted. Do you ever wonder if mourners really mourn the loss of opportunity to live that an individual has forfeited, or do they simply mourn for their own pain and sense of loss? Be well.

Anonymous said...

dark, what message is this?

EilĂ­s said...

this message came after sitting on the edge of a cemetary and watching my loved one die. but it's not all dark--just what i saw at that moment.