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In their enthusiasm
To prove they were
genius and wise
Rest fighting corona
Motivational speakers
Spiritual leaders
Deranged doctors
Often showed stats
Corona virus conspiracy political and pharmaceutical
More people die of
Heart disease, cancer etc.
Than due to Covid 19
These nincompoops failed appreciate
Unlike heart disease, cancer etc.
Corona contagious
With no proven medical cure
May send you
To crematorium or
Burial ground
In a little time
It's precautions
That kept stats down
Otherwise it would
Make cities and towns
Burial grounds
When aware enemy is around
You cannot close your eyes
Akin pigeons when the cat is around
Heart disease, cancer may take you unaware
If diagnosed in time
Chances great to survive
These diseases don't catch
People around
Pro corona stats highlighters
Great disservice you're doing
You shouldn't go unpunished
You made the public complacent
AF Dec 2020
he dug my grave,
you kicked me in it.

you're both to blame
Coop Lee Oct 2020
hand me down stories
an indian burial ground
figures in the woods
three piles of rocks
the same log
bundle of blood

               i am so, so sorry
Seranaea Jones Oct 2020

One day,

I found the letter "W" laid
face to the ground-
i knew this because it's center
was pushed downward,

like a nose in the dirt.

with every attempt i made
to stir it, it would only moan
and remain still, its thin arms
bent around backwards.

this is not the first time
iv'e seen a "W" laid out,
having witnessed many
letters and numerals bite
the dust of misplacement-

it is just the sad truth
of our language.

i found a cardboard box
and picked it up carefully,
making sure i didnt injure
the poor fellow further.

it looked up at me and
made a weak smile,
knowing we all make

upon it's passing away,
it was this expression
i remembered most
when i buried it
next to an

-© 2020
bloodKl0tz Oct 2020
1.  Headlights glowed like cigarette ends in the twilight

2. As soon as they winked out in the warm, weedy field, and the harsh engine noise snapped into silence, I began to cry.

3. Father stepped quietly towards me and I sniffed as I smelled the earth I was digging, the sweat I was dripping, the carcasses I was covering.

4.  Beneath the distant moon Father paused, watching me sift dirt over the remains of two limp goldfish.

5. The morbid scene glittered as moonlight sparkled off my tears and the half-buried scaled.

6.  A small tribute to their salty home.

7.  As if on cue, the wind ruffled the tops of the grain in the neighboring unshorn field; the undulating stalks mimicked the ocean.

8.  Their grave remains unmarked.
Written for Creative Writing class in 2008, the exercise was called Syntactic Gymnastics.
Amanda Kay Burke Aug 2020
Bury who I was
Down beneath the dirt
Laying rest to lost innocence I will never get back

Begin the funeral procession
Pay respects to another naive heart
Poet who felt too much
One dreamer who still believed true love existed

Close the casket
Lower me in
Girl I used to be is gone
Below six feet of mistrust and betrayal

She died the moment you left
Written 8-18-15
michael Jun 2020
Rain drops shell station road
Hurst turns point thirty three
Degrees north-west-west. See,
The quiet stones ahead

Lower the lead scarred flesh,
The soul of this marred son,
Into the dirt it laboured.

How many times should
Gorgythion's root-stem
Lose its petal-wreathed head?
Alek Mielnikow May 2020
We finish digging our graves, dug
to what we consider three feet, but
we don’t worry about measurements.

These deaths are negligible.

Coated in dirt and sweat and heaving,
we gaze at each other. We both nod,
toss our shovels aside and walk over
to our bodies. He grabs his by the wrist
and drags it across the grass. I hoist
mine into my arms and shuffle over.

They’re both dumped into the graves,
and we fill both the holes. He walks to
his car without hesitation. I pause a
moment to glare at my grave, but I don’t
offer a eulogy or prayer, only standing
there in silence. I catch up to him, throw
my shovel in the trunk, and we drive off.

He drops me at my home, and I go inside
to find my wife watching TV. My wife? I
blink, trying to focus. Yes, she is my wife.
She says “Hey honey”, and I respond with
a low “Hey”, but she doesn’t look over,
does not notice the mess. I ***** up the
stairs, counting the steps, and start a shower.

As the water warms, the mirror reveals
someone familiar. No, not familiar, this is
me. I get under the warm stream, letting it
clean away what is left of me.

by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
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