The Death Papers.... (Part One)
perhaps, we then
are but a series of deaths,
tiny deaths, unclaimed sparks...
or one long death
in illiterate stages,
flesh scarred memories failing,
deeper and deeper in the grain,
the stink of rot, and becoming!
broken wings and stolen kisses,
lips scorched and fingers broken,
beyond names and naming,
beyond words and thinking...
till nothing is left,
but raw sound,
and the veins of the decayed leaf,
shouting silence, and redemption!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Added by Poetry Lover
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