I've seen my own grave
Trudging through the snow
At the top of the hill
Where people don't go
Half covered by dirt and grime
Rest crumbled like stardust fine
Moss made its home out of engraved letters
Forming my illegible scrawled-out name
That my mother used to sing songs about
A curse fallen from my father's mouth in shame
Bones that lie beneath the mound
Too heavy to carry too brittle to keep
Crawling their way from flesh unbound
First reaching up then digging deep
Soul eaten by worms feasting on peace
No ghost left to haunt my faded memories
YOU ARE READING
Poems 2
PoetryWhile in English exists only one word for it, the ancient Greeks with their aim for self-understanding and knowledge found eight different varieties of love that we might all experience at some point: 1. Eros (Erotic love) - represents the idea of s...
