A twisted poem about being dead inspired by some time sitting under a tree in a grave yard |
-Dead- by Keaton Foster There are many Each stone Marks every home An eternity For eternity’s sake A prison unkempt There are no guards No burdensome locks There is only nothing An endless realm Of suffocating darkness I know none Not a damn one Yet each day And every night I stand right here Looking quite queer Appearing very weird A man out of place Living his life waiting Those in mourning Pass me by Some stop Some throw me a glance Some ask me why Never do I reply I just keep watching Waiting via my own Terrible circumstances They are quick to move on As many of them leave me be They often whisper I’ll say a prayer for you I appreciate the idea But unlike them I am aware There is no prayer That could ever save me I am doomed And I should be I will pay with my life Both while I’m alive And when I’m dead There are some things That can never be right That can never be Removed from the soul There is a spot for me My most final adobe It sits beneath my feet There is a blank stone Marking where I’ll go Letting no one know I’ll never be visited Nor do I want to be In death as in life I’ll see all of this And all of them Through clear vision In eternal darkness… Dead Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013 |