Friday, July 4, 2008

Beneath This Stone

I lay alone beneath this stone, for 100 years or more
The seasons progress overhead, affect me not at all
Long rest
Soft whispers of mortal voices is all I discern
Nay not one gives me pause to cease my unnatural rest
Than upon my stone cold grave an extra weight I feel
Words from a mortal man as he lies upon my tomb
Voice unused throat so dry impossible to breathe
Release me from my cold dark grave the words I try to say
I whisper softly words only meant for him to hear
It’s blood I crave within my grave sustenance I need
With each tap of hammer on chisel my heartbeat starts again
In anticipation, I wait, as with each hit stone falls away
Work faster; strike harder, Chip away at my grave
For what you seek, lies buried beneath, hurry I wait
First bite of your flesh is what I need
Ah, my love you are what I desire
Your request I can fulfill
Come to me, come lay with me awhile
Tis not the end for you and I
But only the beginning

©Saroya Poirier July 4th 2008
1:48 AM

Inspired by a poem by Lance Cheuvront

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