deepundergroundpoetry.com
In Death
When I become one,
yet again, with clay,
speak to my grave.
Tell the molded soil,
the things you’ve kept from me—
things I sought in my life,
and no longer will in my death.
yet again, with clay,
speak to my grave.
Tell the molded soil,
the things you’ve kept from me—
things I sought in my life,
and no longer will in my death.
Published 19th Jan 2025
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