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Untitled
April 10, 2015
There’s shattered glass hidden in the ruins of my memories
I lug a bag of bodies over my shoulder,
Full of the corpses of people I once knew long ago
There’s a long, narrow trail
Made out of the ash we all become,
And the trail blows in the wind like a decaying symphony
With every heavy breath taken
My feet, barefoot, become roots in the dirt
Unable to move in the clay and soil,
Once the sun emerges from behind the trees
The corpses and I become one with earth again
© Molly H., Lynden, WA
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