Sit and Wonder

You sit in you grave,

wrapped in lies.

The lifeless cold dirt

chills you.

The smell of death is stale,

but bitterly sweet to the

tip of your toung.

You sit and wonder if your tombstone

is stained with tears.

You sit and wonder if dehydrated

roses are sprinkled

upon your

lonely gravesight.

You sit and wonder,

why you died.

You wonder if death took your hand

and walked with you gently

or if he snatched you

by surprise in the dark.

You can't rememer,

but you still st and dwonder.

Reviews

[Constance L. Hartwell]

I love the flow of your words and the imagery is amazing! "you sit and wonder if your tombstone is stained with tears." WOW! that alone blew me away. you have talent. thanks for posting.