deepundergroundpoetry.com
Dead Men Have no Graves
Close your eyes, hear the cries
Feel the earth move through the air...
And to your sides, tattered oak lies
Caressing each strand of hair
Dirty hands are digging land
The hole grows ever deep
Your breath is ailing, your screams are failing
With every shoveled heap
No man or beast has ever grasped
The handle of a spade
It seems the man who's shoveling land
Is sleeping in the grave
Dirty hands are digging land
The hole grows ever deep
I call upon the ghosts of old
Wake up from your sleep!
A choir singing, Sunday's ringing
The witching hour's at hand
Come with me, spirit free
Your wish is my command
Dirty hands are digging land
The hole grows ever deep
Not one sound I hear from the ground
No, not a peep
A crowd appears, their faces in tears
We're staring into the bed
But what we see beneath the debris
A man not yet dead
Dirty hands are digging land
The hole grows ever deep
We've nailed the good upon this wood
The rest is yours to reap
Your fists are knocking, the coffin is locking
You're hungry for the bell
No rope or string, no alarming ring
Can save you from the pits of hell.
Feel the earth move through the air...
And to your sides, tattered oak lies
Caressing each strand of hair
Dirty hands are digging land
The hole grows ever deep
Your breath is ailing, your screams are failing
With every shoveled heap
No man or beast has ever grasped
The handle of a spade
It seems the man who's shoveling land
Is sleeping in the grave
Dirty hands are digging land
The hole grows ever deep
I call upon the ghosts of old
Wake up from your sleep!
A choir singing, Sunday's ringing
The witching hour's at hand
Come with me, spirit free
Your wish is my command
Dirty hands are digging land
The hole grows ever deep
Not one sound I hear from the ground
No, not a peep
A crowd appears, their faces in tears
We're staring into the bed
But what we see beneath the debris
A man not yet dead
Dirty hands are digging land
The hole grows ever deep
We've nailed the good upon this wood
The rest is yours to reap
Your fists are knocking, the coffin is locking
You're hungry for the bell
No rope or string, no alarming ring
Can save you from the pits of hell.
Published 15th Jul 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4
reading list entries 1
comments 8
reads 690
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
15th Jul 2017 5:26pm
Hell... is definitely a state of mind. Much like the depictions you've authored !
15th Jul 2017 5:32pm
Indeed it is, a worse place to be than any physical place, it's hard to escape our heads.. Thank you Shadow!
15th Jul 2017 6:04pm
An intense dark and hideous beauty emanates from your words and lurks about in the darker corners of my imagination.
Post
Post
15th Jul 2017 6:19pm
This is music to my ears Post... Forever manifesting itself. This is an amazing comment!
Anonymous
15th Jul 2017 8:43pm
Traveling.. darkened brilliance.. love the way you tell a story.. again you've got great flow, and rhythm.. another one that flows like lyrics.. much respect..
Dave
Dave
15th Jul 2017 11:12pm
15th Jul 2017 8:55pm
15th Jul 2017 11:13pm
Mogwai, thank you for the comment! Always encouraged if someone can see the picture painted in the words
