I, I’ve,
I, I’ve—

I’ve dug a grave
Deep into the ground
Filled with hail and rain
And foul

Words that burrow
Further
Than any other
Worm

Than any other
Word

Painted portraits
Contorted faces
They’re laced
With malice
And filled
With hatred

The pictures of the
Dead
They stare
Straight ahead

No goal
In mind
No destination
In sight

When they give their
Final bow
How’s the world to
Spin around

When the weight befalls
A fallen tapestry
Without a sound

Every step you take
Is disturbance
And breaking of the
Silence

The wake

That resides
With
The fallen,
The silent,
The gone.