Run your hand
Across my face
So that I might
Know that I lived.
My pyre, long since
Sending its scent
Into clear prairie air
Has leveled its mound
into unforgiving earth.
This pock marked marble
Has one hundred years
Of wind and rain
Grinding away
My name.
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Dude, I love the first line. It is beautiful…
Comment by ryan March 29, 2008 @ 4:36 amThanks ryan.
Comment by pastorofdisaster March 29, 2008 @ 11:50 amWhose gravestone is it?
Comment by tribalchurch March 31, 2008 @ 4:37 pmOne from my childhood graveyard jaunts.
Comment by pastorofdisaster March 31, 2008 @ 7:43 pm