Shekinah Glory

March 28, 2008, 10:14 am
Filed under: Death, Inspiration, Poetry, writing

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.


4 Comments so far
Leave a comment

Dude, I love the first line. It is beautiful…

Comment by ryan

Thanks ryan.

Comment by pastorofdisaster

Whose gravestone is it?

Comment by tribalchurch

One from my childhood graveyard jaunts.

Comment by pastorofdisaster

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