Cremated ashes into glass
Is this our only legacy?
Proof of our immortality?
Of life experienced avoiding the grave?
Under Chatterton's inscription
My pen hesitates
My mind races to nothing
And I am torn away
From the over exposed distance
A human silhouette appears
As it nears it becomes less opaque
Lines etched deep from life's masquerade
This very piece of glass before me
Runs with skin and bone compressed
Burned up and used
Is this now my lot?
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Author:
Emile Dubois (
Offline) - Published: September 18th, 2016 14:15
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
- User favorite of this poem: camille.
Offline)
Comments2
"For a long time I have been at war with the grave." From one of the members of the dead poet's society.
Awesome body of work here....Very well written..
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