Among The Graves I walk
Among T he Graves I walk From the graves I walk, my skin taught, the crows high and the skies bleak. My eyes are weary and so be my heart. The tombs at my feet scream, they plead for me. But I see, nor feel no need to listen. I have contemplated the end and its desire for me. I shed my arms like a tree to the wind. Leave me burdened with no limbs to hoist the heavy weight. Weigh me heavy upon these rotted soils and let me sink. Let me think of all the wretched things I have done, I have become. I wish for no more than to be the feast of crows. For at least, they will have a purpose for my death, my life. There is only stillness in the breath I take. I am walking in the slumber of my head, numb. Count the feathers as they fall, for each is of something I have never told. Buried, my tears are quiet. I look to the sky through the noxious vapors of my voice. What do I see, but the empty toils of what is not to come. My body meager in the urge to press forward. ...