6 Grave Stones

Times Terrain

Stuffed nose and mouth, wool’s a no sugar snack,
Air tight box, gold painted edges,
The wonders of my fame takes me way back,
To lonely and friendless weekends,
And suicide inscribed silence on weekdays.
Tell the girl with the bleeding eyes
And the woman rolling in the red sand,
The dead need no pity, no friend,
No stream of tears to flood them to Eden.
The horses of wishes I rode,
That only in old age will I dissolve
From flesh to maggots, soul to breeze,
Your tears will fade,  new memories invade.
Death is proof that time elapses,
Time is a terrain between birth and death.

LARDO