Tag Archives: decay

Bone Garden

splintah-59104.jpg
A garden of bones,
Planted in stone.
Living are the seeds sown,
Decay: germination’s home.
Bones become as the flower blooms,
And blooming into a flower unseen,
Mice are this flowers bees.
This garden of bones is no tomb.

Advertisements

The Tree of Knowledge

Into the night that may swallow whole
What fear we have and render silent the voices that may protest.
On deaf ears our crys fall,
An uncaring void, unwelcoming, and unable to
See how we fall, motionless,
Into the apathy of entropy that holds the universe in check.
What pride, what arrogance would grow rampant
Had not the tree of knowledge bestowed the gift of mortality.

Considering Decay

I found a bone
I brought it home
It once walked over dirt and stone,
It held a creatures flesh and skin,
It was partially the vessel the soul had traveled in.
I found a bone, a bone called sin.
I found a bone, the bone was dead.
Though alive in my head,
To me it said:
“What I was, I no longer am,
Though you hold me still I stand,
And one day will become the sea and land.”
I set it down then to display,
How it still stands, in a way,
How it still moves, and runs and plays.
You’ll see this too, if you consider decay.

Running Down

image

Who can own him: entropy?
What is said and seen the way that we,
Commit all of this to memory,
Would reflect in what we say.
Times weathering isn’t seen today.
Entropy, disorder, decline, decay,
All too slowly move, we can’t observe.
Tomorrow forgotten, we only self-serve.
It is as much as we deserve.
So we take entropy, our prize.
Every moment we despise,
Each other.
For taking too long to decide.
Which way to go, which path to take:
The way to reverse this,
Or the easy one?
Running out of time,
This decision we must make.

A Residence Of Worms

xxdownload85

The calling of the crows
Said you were alone,
I’ll take you back to my home,
Hidden under a stone.
Clear skies or rain,
I’m waiting again.
I’m beyond the end of pain,
Where you’re then taken.
Of you, time might forget;
Of this I seldom wonder.
After that, what’d you expect?
When you are placed there under,
The feet of those who come after.
Once you’re laid with those before,
In the silence of the rafters,
In our house of worms and gore.