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Friday, April 6, 2012

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Poem: Buried

I want to be buried beneath
The warm, singing pockets of the earth.
To die a lonely sailor’s death
Is not for me, nature’s walker.
My heart does not lie in the sea;
There’s anguish in the rippling tides,
All those wintry foaming waters,
Glassy green hills of screaming souls,
The harsh white lines of an abyss.
And yet peace does not need a grave,
My soul yearns for the rocky world
Where I lived is where I now died.
I sing for the face of the earth.

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