Now completely out its grave
On its hands and knees it will not stay
it struggles to rise and clenches the fresh dirt in its fist
its grave determination not hard to miss
on a face that’s been dead for decades
Alive and yet lifeless the drool cascades
from a rotten mouth an eerie moan can be heard
spoken aloud by a disheveled corpse that once inhabited this earth
trying not to make a sound
desperately quiet, so as not to be found
by the denizen of dirt, this hellish sight on earth
these thoughts fly by when
all of a sudden it’s interrupted by something lumbering nearby
is it the walking dead?
or simply your imagination instead?
Perhaps all of it is a dream, and you are asleep
in your bed
you cannot remember
you are not afraid
But behind you, your grave awaits....