poetry allows me to purge and process. its how I breathe.
The coffin. The coffin sits thereIn dark oak, whisperingWeeping are those around the coffinFor the man in white who laysWithin the 6 feet long piece of woodReady to go 6 feet underReady to begin the real testThe test of life,Where the questions will be askedAnd you will see a lightNot one of this world.but of […]