Bury me at the creek where I spent my days tossing rocks into the stagnant water
Where the sinking mud and damp grasses meant more to me than the people.
The people whose conversations were dull and slow, more so than the creek
Where I spent all my days.
Bury me under the dirt away from the gravestones, away from the ghosts of the people.
But bring me to the creek whose water still runs softly, even as I leave this world.
Whose life is still there forever, even as the people die and walk far away
From the creek where I spent my days.
Keep me around the rock houses who hosted the crawling ants and the piles of moss.
I wish to stay with these things that remain, away from the people who die and become ground.
Though I as well died and will not remain, I ask to be buried by the sound of whispering green,
At the creek where I spent my days.
YOU ARE READING
"She"
Poetry"Some days we're dead. Others we're alive. In all of them we exist." Poetry Collection, accumulation of most of my work. Femminine feelings that can only be felt by some. Inner thoughts, whims and feelings are written here. If I can impact you a...
