GRANT FRASER

Silver Star - 3,374 Points (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Grave - Poem by GRANT FRASER

Deeper still,
more than
six foot under,
is this resurrect?

I mean do you get hard,
always thinking about it,

a tee-pee on the centre
of your death spread....

a word must have dug
itself out, somehow,
regardless,

pared, or just plain scared,
to feel or tell it just like it is,

image bound,
it's such a bastard
sometimes,

just to not know,
what it really is,
that thought paints
by sheer accident,

in life's destruction
or construction,

complexity's umbilical
feeds you somewhere

is the past, so corrupted,
that we consign words,
what break into?

should you bleed
like a glacial light
out onto others,

nostalgia's velvet
bag, with a hard shape,
that one doesn't escape...

unless we dig
our own graves,
from here on...

surface for all your worth,
is like a burial
by the time the worms
crawl out,
or seize the light of ways,
unheard of...

Topic(s) of this poem: poem


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 13, 2017



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