Friday, August 20, 2010

death

In the end,
when the mourning stops
and the black becomes
colorful again,
all that we are
is a mound of fresh dirt
and a stack of old poems.

2 comments:

Chris Andrews said...

Inspired by Edward and Brent's last poems.

Brandi Kary said...

This is beautiful as a stand alone line. I like the the comparison between fresh dirt and old poems it really caters to the senses.