Post Mortem
Distant melancholic music plays.
Dead flowers swoon and sway
In the molten breeze of an August afternoon.
Colors lost too soon,
Faded and forsaken by the relentless beat
Of an angry sun.
Forlorn and forgotten by the living,
Sight and scent no longer giving pleasure
To jaded eyes ever longing
For the newness of things.
Alas, death saves its own,
Finding home in a wasteland
of discarded memories and long lost days,
Resurrected in hearts and minds
Held captive by the lure and love
Of the simple abject beauty of decay.
|