deepundergroundpoetry.com
Wash me in Bach
When I bleed
I smell the sea,
life's ebb and flow
the way of all rivers
returning without season.
Let me die naked
the way that I came
and bury me with no tears
or foolish petals wilting.
I shall not mourn
now the plough is stilled
though the fields lie fallow
the hands of the clock
will not cease.
Published 11th Jul 2012
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15th Jul 2012 12:30pm
We take our turn,
and like it or not;
well lived or no;
we give it back,
willingly or no.
and like it or not;
well lived or no;
we give it back,
willingly or no.
15th Jul 2012 4:25pm
Exactly so, Turtle - may you continue to run in a straight line without obstacles until you arrive upon your shore.
