I love the hollow desolate plot,
some forgotten, some are not.
Whilt the dead lay in sunken ground,
A silver stone marks swollen ground.
Filled with what is not wanted there,
all it can do is exspell musty air.
Below and above, and what's inbetween,
these hidden treasures lie unseen.
But who really knows what lays below,
if anything, it does not show.
We stand above the shallow grave,
lay around waiting for someone to save.
Do not come and visit me,
I don't know you're there, I cannot see.
Don't stop by for condolences pay,
for this is not where I lay.
2007-08-27
16:54:53
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9 answers
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asked by
Shattered
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in
Poetry