Buried Bones

There’s an unmarked grave

inside my heart

for the joy I used to feel;

wrapped in linen

just the bones remain

of what once seemed so real.

I guess I should

have sensed the knife

before it found its mark;

I now contend

with such an end

and the snuffing of that spark.

And so I haunt

your waking dreams

and rattle all my chains;

you never shall

erase my mark

and hide these cold remains!