do not bury my body amongst the grave stones;
i hope you’d leave me to lay beneath trees unowned.
the sweet fungi shall gnaw through my thin rotten flesh
so worms might feast on the hollow bones that are left.
heaven’s clouds, hell’s fire, purgatory’s wand’ring,
a rotting corpse, my only quiet offering.
-
Author:
s. h. barton (
Offline) - Published: June 8th, 2024 18:46
- Category: Nature
- Views: 0
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.