I, I’ve,
I, I’ve—
I’ve dug a grave
Deep into the ground
Filled with hail and rain
And foul
Words that burrow
Further
Than any other
Worm
Than any other
Word
Painted portraits
Contorted faces
They’re laced
With malice
And filled
With hatred
The pictures of the
Dead
They stare
Straight ahead
No goal
In mind
No destination
In sight
When they give their
Final bow
How’s the world to
Spin around
When the weight befalls
A fallen tapestry
Without a sound
Every step you take
Is disturbance
And breaking of the
Silence
The wake
That resides
With
The fallen,
The silent,
The gone.