The Grave

January 16, 2014

Worms crawl through puss filled rotting organs.

Blood reduced to paste,

Life turned to dust.

The teeth rot,

The eyes pop like

Over-filled balloons.

The fingers,

Thin and bony,

Claw up at the velvet-lined sky.

Cracks start to form,

Allowing dirt to fall into

This long forgotten sanctuary.

Roots move all about

And moles claw with blind eyes.

Above this all lies

Well trimmed grass

And a cracked old stone marker

Which reads the name

Of a long-lost love.

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