Would I die on words that decay moment after
released to the winds of perception like snow
drops they fall unheard and unwanted.

But still I release them in ever effort to see them
drift like feathers in the wind and skim on all
that were in relation to my thoughts.

But my words are corpses that people wish to bury,
not listen but to put words on granite.

"To all that read this, words were spoken but not listened upon,
they are buried like so many here,

*"Rest in peace,