carved stones and stained scriptures,
perishable pieces of tarnished souls,
feeding and filling what might have been
a crack –
– in a lonely lifetime
fretting for acceptance by an unforeseeable future;
and so, I’ll dig.
A leader’s conceit, a beggars whimper,
A soldiers struggle, a traveler’s splinter
An expression of a lovers lust,
In a coffin, two bodies trying to adjust;
Rotting, rumbling earthy riddles
Screaming at outlying stars, a pitch harsh enough
To resonate stories – that have been,
And will be.
And will always be.
And so, I’ll dig.
Image : Persistence of Memory, Dali