I plow the bitter soil
Deep enough to protect from elements
But not enough to wake the cold souls
Planting seeds in a cemetery at dusk
An idea that suggests a paradox itself
Allows me to see the world lucidly
I plant my memories
One by one into the filthy earth
Filled with dark holes and lost souls
Only within arms reach of the dead
The cemetery is unusually silent
Then again dusk is too early for life
The crows are not yet flying
The living are still dreaming
I plow the now sodden ground
Soaked by tears of the dead
I plow a grave to live in
Far away from my memories
The irony doesn't bother me
I just want silence
So nobody wakes up.