Foot meets the metal of a cold shovel
with a sun beaming down
booted foot pushes the *****
into the soft and rooty ground

one mound of dirt
sweat forms above the brow
two mounds of dirt
salty bead slithers down
three mounds of dirt
tuned into the sounds
four mounds of dirt
birds chirp all around

stopped by a thick root
extra force must be used
give that shovel a pogo of boots
and we are at the fifth mound

six and seven are easy
as the hole starts to round
eight nine ten eleven twelve
a tomb has been found

carried your sheet covered corpse
laid you in the hole
cover you with what was uncovered
creating a man made knoll

Six years of memories
laid underneath this red dirt
many years missing
that time gone subvert

It's guilt. Maybe, it's pity.
It's a shame when you love someone like that.
Out of courtesy though out of line,
as you think you owed it to them at one time.

You can't say the words.
You can't even whisper some.
In fear you might hurt
he, whose heart is in line.
You ended up keeping it all.
Ignoring that you're already lost  the heart you own.

You think you're saving yourself but you're really not.
You know you're digging deep for yourself to rot.

where it
made me
that tried
her and
mattered in
court that
toiled with
ritual today
where drama
drawn there
was righteous
in the
moment of
essay when
a decision
to liaison
the archer