Poetry

The Tiniest of Graves
© 2007 Sean J. Logan


Now it's almost midnight.
It finally is done.
I have buried something
I cared about that one.

The creature only needed
the tiniest of graves.
Yet I could not focus
and put it off too late.

Two scoops with the shovel,
fine honing with a spoon.
Remove him from the tiny box
in the pale light of the moon.

Wrapped now in red satin,
the fragrance of decay.
I should have buried him
Upon the other day.

The scent stayed in my nose
stayed in my throat as well.
Should be buried sooner
It was wrong to dwell.

His body I lay gently
into the new dug grave.
I touched it once again
His life I could not save.

I bent down even closer
and covered him with dirt.
Spread the leaves on top,
Couldn't bury up the hurt

Not Die, Nor Live
2007 Sean J. Logan

I don't want to die
but I don't want to live
I don't want to take
nor do I want to give

A ghost, a shadow
a spec of dark
Will you ever
make your mark?

Brooding now
mind spirals down
Nothing matters
leave without a sound

Seems insane
seems logical too
Haze clarified
leaving all of you

 

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