Notes from the underground: I’d been dead only an hour
I’d been dead only an hour,
when I found out the sour
taste of the earth’s cruel embrace.
When against my will but couldn’t yield,
under the weeping willow of the field,
Was I barbarously burrowed to “sleep”
eerie eternity to greet and wistful weep—
dirt suffocating slowly
the weight of ground unholy.
There was no priest when the last solider fell,
it never tolled, the gleeful gloomy bell.
Notes from the upperground: Afterwards I lived.
“I’d been dead only an hour,
when the worms my skin off began to scour
when the biblical blabbing,
convincingly confirmed to be bluffing.
No warmth pervaded the soul,
which never left its bowl,
sat in its walls, moist and clogged.”
This is the story I briefly logged
carefully crooked remembered letters,
burning fingers deliver it to the debtors,
no, restrain the surreal surge.
reveal the story, whiny voice on the verge:
Those who the shovel held
deserve to live comically compelled
by she who suffering survived,
and of eden dreams has been deprived.
But the voice I deadened,
tucked myself into bed and
slept under the dusty window rays
enjoying in warmth the rest of my days.
Thank you for reading Ally’s Book Nook! And you? What can you make with the sentence “I had been dead only an hour”? Share it here!
Till the next time, keep the conversation going…
Love, Ally
I really liked these poems!
“I’d been dead only an hour,
when the worms my skin off began to scour
when the biblical blabbing,
convincingly confirmed to be bluffing." Ahh this sounds so pleasant, I love the way the sounds roll right off the tongue