Friday, July 11, 2008


It’s inconceivable to be buried alive in this life
Vanished, invisible, non-existent, unseen
The loam is stiflingly thick in its fibrous depth
Dig deep smell the aroma of rot and death
Smothered in dirt to regenerate the earth
Sounds of earthworm, beetles and roots
Listen carefully to the sound of bodies that die
Feeding the crawly things wiggle in the dirt
Restless mind heavy swimming in muck
Time to crunch on those that munch away my decay
Sounds of the dwellers of daylight seep inside my damp grave
Drawing me out, drawing me up, leaving behind inconceivable death
Clawing up pushing earth, smells rain, animals, human, a treat
Teeth ache, hunger inside pulling free can no longer hide
Come little man, come feed me now, see me not until the dawn
By then little man, your blood will be gone your soul will have flown
Then I will move on, and you will lie still buried in earth
To feed the crawly things that wiggle in the dirt.

© Saroya Poirier 7/11/08

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