Vines grew over me.
Bugs crawled through my hair.
A little bird came and sipped at the rainwater that had pooled in my upturned ear.
Eventually, the worms and fungi finished off what was left of me.
And none of them even said, "Thank you."
55
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3 comments:
oh a chilling 55...made me think of the body farm where they do the forensic work.
my 55 is up!
Wow. This is really powerful. Glad it was only a dream.
Thanks, Brian. Of course, for all the creepiness of a body farm, it does have an entirely constructive purpose, whereas the situation in this poem appears more fruitless, at least at first glance.
PattiKen, I always appreciate being told I've written something powerful! In the interest of full disclosure, this wasn't actually a dream; it's an allegory.
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