Part 1:
Six feet down
A grave a sound
A crying woman
A mother maybe?
Or a wife?
Who else would grieve
At this time?
Who would remember
This unmarked grave?
Part 2:
Wind blows with a hint of raindrops
Enough to let you feel the water
Leaves move away
The veil has been lifted
The man lies naked
In his grave
Feeling he is not home
Wind betrayed and
Breached his privacy
Part 3:
The broken body tried to shift
Get to a side
But fails
His face to the right
Back against the floor
He sees those cracks
In the wooden planks
Above him
His end is near
As his space constricts
Part 4:
The soil feels heavy
The cracks in the wooden planks widen
It trickles down
And starts becoming a part
Of the body that rests there
Soon everything will be soil

[…] You can define blankness in a lot of ways yet it will not be enough, it will never be enough. I wrote a similar piece a year ago. […]
LikeLike