Epitaph
Bury me in the dirt;
feed me to the flowers.
Let my bones become
something iridescent,
Something hushed,
Something delicate;
Borne by the warm Sun
and the hum of patient summer bees.
Never again will I wilt.
4 thoughts on "Epitaph"
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That last line killed me. Love it.
Absolutely, darkly, beautiful. The words and the shape on the page. And I agree with Bronson; all perfect, but last line a killer.
Such an attractive place you conjure!
An epitaph is a message that stops a cemetery visitor, especially one like this.