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minisha 6d
I asked my better halves
how they desire to lie,
once their hearts stop beating,
and breath bids a last goodbye.

Whether they want the stars to
sculpt their constellation, or
the wind to whisper their
cacophonic tales.
Whether they want the earth
to devour their cadaver, or
the skies to weep and
wash away their existence.

The guitarist stated he'll despise grief
as his memories are being relived,
of who he was and who he remains,
as his guitar sleeps in the arms of its heir.

And maybe, the perished strings of an old guitar
don't have to be mourned over,
but applauded for the melodies
that once kindled a ripple of delight.

My dearest across the border
wishes to be nestled beside a mosque
to be enwreathed by The Divine
and lullabied by the Azaan.

And maybe, the eternal slumber is a charade,
and the past still echoes
within the mute boughs or
streets alive with familiar voices.

My junior casts an absurd wish —
to be submerged in cocoa's caress
and be tossed to the lesbian zombies,
who hunger, not for flesh, but for a passion, so savage and insatiable.

And hence, I believe, the hilarity will haunt forever,
but so will my adoration for her,
and perhaps, the craved fervour will
find its form in me.

Then, another writer wove it in her own syllables —
she urges to sink beneath the dismissed waves,
flicker among starlight, like undying thoughts.
She wants her bones to dissolve, ink for Gods,
and her heart to rest beneath a willow.

She wishes to slip into silence,
like laughter scattered over dreamy vinyl,
breath scattered over moonlit stars,
and a page torn mid-sentence.

And lastly, if you enquire of me,
I wish my corpse to be a legacy beyond self
and be gifted to time and science.

But if coerced to be cremated,
I wish to reincarnate as a litchi tree.
With my arms extended in a welcoming warmth,
I will embrace the excluded,
my shadow will shelter the weary,
and my fruits will sate the starving.

All of which I was never offered
in the frigidity of my bloodline,
but was abundantly endowed with,
in the refuge of my closest mates.
Tsuki no ume Jun 18
These hordes of peasants,These foul resentments,
Staring me with those envious eyes
Losing themselves in dense lies
Forgetting themselves ;aimlessly walking
Dumping their minds in shamful stalkings
Thou where the world has lost and gone
O' disgracing viles! O'  discracing viles!
Drowning, Descending ;
Vales O' Vales!
Forget this world and its loathing tales!
Slipping from memory ;both mind and thoughts
Disregard! Disregard! Untruthful lies you had ought
From the dark obsidian heart of yours
One so black ,scorned with ores
Disdain ! Disdain! O' impure scorns
Shall we punish those who mourn
Fetid ! O Fetid! Discard 'em on thorns
All your pains died in vain
Those ardent flames burnt by rain
Insolent opressor die to sleep
Dreadful throngs bound to heep
All withered flowers have harvested and reap
Disp'izd Love have fallen a leap
The calamity no longer has to keep
The sorrows ,pains,O misfortune woes
Open the door to death and see
Dont beg Azrael another weep
Shut your eyes drift to sleep
Kiss the death ;Free from grief
Tis' a gift ;No bitter Agony
Now fall in love with demised ravens
Cloaking in darkness ;Forevermore
Love it more !Love it more
Orysons aloft !O' Dead Lores
Save me O' honoured Lord
Let me see the spring of death
Let me see the seasons beg
The cry ,The plea of flowers unheard
Dead sea ,Dead waters and birds
The embered bones shall wither away
I Fray O' Fray ;tis' Behold array
Tis' sweet ecstasy ;All too fair
All solemned All condemned,
Etched this heart ;Alighten a flare
Have no vigour ;O' hand me a *****
Digging deep this soil i wade
For me to lie where i was made
A perched coffin; left a spare
Tis' A Heavan forevermore
My spulchural burial ;evermore
Say my name ; say it no more
I withered in neverthness ;In Never more
O' in Nevermore!
O' in Nevermore!
              __tsuki no ume.
Gideon Mar 8
The day they lower me into the dirt,
I want to be remembered by my work.
One day when I am six feet under,
I want my treasures torn asunder.
I won’t need riches, wealth, or money.
After all, it’s kinda funny.
They won’t follow me to hell.
I want to be remembered well.
May my art lead others to glee.
May my work make others free.
After all, what’s the point, if it all ends with me?
Art and creation are for confronting mortality.
Heidi Franke Feb 3
I'm a shell
My soul has left
Empty as can be
Space that's left
Is not me

I'm useless
As a highway
Without cars
I might as well
Be on Mars

I'm gone
But still alive
Like stars persist
Until the light is gone
My body insists

I'm a circumference
The boundary surrounds
Dry carcass bone
I care not
Just lost-and-found

I won't return
To my body of ruin
Burial plans made
Threaded into a patchwork quilt
Upstaged and waylaid

I'm now safe outside
Myself
I see you looking in
She is gone from her
Forever now thick and thin

I'm tired of sycophants  
Complicit in democracy's destuction
By their hands, skinned alive
I left my body today
In order to survive
I'm so tired of my brain, my overthinking, the world's judges, the loss of democracy with an evil idiot wanna be dictator. I'm tired of those sync pants who voted for the destruction of democracy. I'm skinned alive. It hurts. Today I left my body to survive.
Tye Jan 2
If I die tonight,
Bury me shallow,
So I can wake from the abyss,
And leer at the hazy moonlight,
As it bounces softly through the treetops.
Where I can hear the birds,
Chirping to greet the sun.
Where others can hold their breath,
And hear my soul through the ground.
A M Ryder Feb 16
Their names and
Story are lost
To time but
They clearly meant
The world to someone
Jack Groundhog Oct 2024
On the face of a tombstone there
I saw an epitaph made for evermore,
its letters eroded and worse for wear
and covered by moss that grew long before;
the trees’ roots twisted around its base
to nudge the old stone out of plumb line
and wrap the tomb’s body in wooden embrace
while draping it all in verdant vines:
The permanent stone turns slowly to sand —
a world without end that brief time spanned
Inspired by a visit to the cemetery in Edinburgh by that name. Many tombstones are badly faded and barely legible.
Joseph Miller Apr 2022
There she lay
No beautiful smile
No sparkling eyes
All life's energy spent
Now peace
In eternal sleep

She is gone
Only if we forget
The love she gave
Is ours to keep

We who knew her best
Are compelled by her noble way
To heed a greater love
Beyond flesh and blood

Let us sing her song again
Love is the key
Her spirit is ours
For all eternity
In memory of my mother who passed peacefully on 3:16 2021 into everlasting life
George Krokos Mar 2022
In the confines of the house's backyard
there are no marked graves at all to see
but an attempt will be made by this bard
to relate according to personal memory
of some creatures buried therein to be.

Over the course of many years gone by
various creatures have been laid to rest
in the soil of the yard's ground to comply
with an improvised simple funeral blest
by a short little prayer to end their quest.

There were a couple of cats it is recalled
one of them was within the property born
though with the other memory has stalled
which is not surprising and hardly forlorn
to blame or point at with a finger of scorn.

Then there were also a few local birds
mainly sparrows that were regularly fed
which flew all around and dropped turds
being a little distressing to find any dead
some due to after eating crumbs of bread.

They were preyed upon by neighbors' cats
and left for dead when they were disturbed
in their instinctual appetite that included rats
when by humankind were scared and curbed
due to their wild nature's feast so perturbed.

Then on occasion also mice would run free
which were seen coming through the fence
and when at times chased scurried up a tree
where they would hurry to get away thence
a similar burial applied if found dead hence.

It'd be so incomplete here not to mention
all those spiders and insects that had died
in some way or other due to a pretension
that their annoying habitual nature implied
to be poisoned or squashed in their stride.

They have all been buried in the backyard
in various places there that are not marked
laid to rest in the ground either soft or hard
under where others had roamed and barked
in the distant past after they were all carked.
____
Written in May 2020.
David Plantinga Oct 2021
Our undercroft had housed our dead
Unseen, in gloomy sepulture.  
But pagan chieftains much prefer
Barrows, where height can show instead.  
And the busier departments need
Those lowest levels for their work.
Glib passers-by avoid that murk,
And absent bosses don’t impede.      
Ensconsed where corpses decomposed,
Those in cubicles will thrive, unvexed,
And never taken from their desks,
They’ll finish the great work imposed.  
Interrers from a raucous age
Buried their kings and queens in mounds.
Since robbers filch, and greed abounds,
The wise entombed their heritage.  
Sarcophaguses, then the norm,  
Are too chilly for a comfy bed.  
The dawn should kiss those lids of lead,
To heat what blankets cannot warm.
Rather than burying in hills,
Top those barrows with their occupants.  
These somber monuments enhance
What would be dowdy domiciles.  
Coffins as cenotaphs and plaques,
Allow the dead to bask in sun,
And feel what veneration’s done.  
Hilltops make the best catafalques.
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