At My Own Funeral Poem by Leslie Philibert
At My Own Funeral
Bells. Cold air. Damp earth.
Carrying my own coffin as if
divided and watching myself from outside.
Throw masks into an empty grave.
I have been caught leaving a shop
with a bag of stolen apples.
Surrounded by dropped faces and lost tones.
The air cold. Earth damp. Bells.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
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4/23/2024 2:14:20 PM # 1.0.0.1119
this is looking within and seeing the future. good write