i remember the fifth day of the sixth month,
when i kissed your cold body,
it lay in that ebony black coffin,
and i kept quiet, despite knowing you loathed the color black.

back to the day i saw you helpless for the first time,
you fell while walking, you drooled, and you forgot faces.
but you always said, "the day i forget you, you know...it is time"
i brushed the hair out of your face, and held back a tear.

when they said "few weeks more", i cupped your hands in mine.
i looked at them, they were frail and cold and soft,
twisted from the adversities you've faced.
this time, you tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

2 weeks later when i sat beside you, praying,
you asked who i was and why i was watching you sleep.
i ran out of the room, and screamed into a pillow.
it was time.

it was time; to let go of my muse
                                     of my home
                                      of my solace
it was time for the hardest part - goodbye.

today, as i stand near your grave, i smile
i place daisies and share a meal with your ethos.
you were an enigma of a women,
hallelujah, i say.

And in the silence that's often deafening, I hear my heart that still beats.
Reminding me of more pain to come, disguised as truths we are their lies.
After all these years there's no surprise.
Whispered softly into your ears, we are the makers of salty tears.
One day your heart, cold, blue and torn will cease to beat, when death is born.
Life's light will fade for one last time, up through the clouds your soul will climb.
A breeze from the graveyard whispers death but that's ok, I hold its hand.
A smile in the dark I understand, the effort you've shown, this was all planned.
Congratulations to you, my life is through.

down the Valley
where the river flows
flocks of graves
swarmed with crows

ashes to ashes
turn dust to dust
where their metals lei
and turned to rust

stenches of blood
screams and decay
where wasted sheds
are left astray

down the Valley
where the river flows
are plumps of graves
where flowers grow

i see you, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
pointed ears, alert - afraid?
can you hear me breathing?

i know, grave burrower,
i know where you hide.
you hide under cracked stones
where decaying bodies lie.
i see your nose twitch, grave burrower,
can you smell the death?

your garden is bountiful, grave burrower,
it’s a beauty to behold.
how did you get it so beautiful -
are their roots cradled by bones?

i wonder if you see them, grave burrower,
smell them, feel them;
the spirits of the buried.
do you know something about death
that we don’t?

i know you see me, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
your wide eyes see in every direction.
can you see me staring?

To the man who digs graves,
do not do it in the light of day
unless you want your secrets revealed.

To the man who digs graves,
do not miscalculate the placement
unless you want someone to find out.

To the man who digs graves,
do not turn the tables on me
unless all will know of your misdeeds.

To the man who digs graves,
do not tape your victims mouths shut
unless you know they are dead.

To the man who digs craves
do not run
unless you what the police to find you.

To the men who digs graves,
do not leave evidence
unless you want to start digging your grave.

To the man who digs graves,
do not heed my warnings,
unless it's too late.

Now, start digging.