Six Feet Under

Sometimes,

I find myself to wonder,

Lost in mental clouds of grey,

What's it really like, six feet under?

 

A cherry crypt with a gilded lock,

Body embalmed and clothed in gauths,

Falling down a neverending pit,

The cool feel of underground moss.

 

Opening my eyes again,

Only to see and marvel at the finish,

Purple swamps and navy marshes,

The petrified remains of fossil fish.

 

Withered trees and flowers and shrubs,

Black and bare of leaves,

And at the corner of each palace wall,

A little black spider weaves.

 

Bones of the dead, the color of charcoal,

Blended into the palace floors,

Walls torn by fire through the top,

And spikes jagged from the twin doors.

 

I saw that from the river,

Waters a tranquil ghostly grey,

A canoe of driftwood and spiritual rower,

Taking my enslaved spirit away.

 

Towards the fence of tibias and and fibulas,

Up a hingey metal gate a respirating rose vine crawled,

Strengthening the sheepish fence,

Skeleton guards at the door, waiting to be called.

 

And the palace floor as cool as marble,

Stained in blood and tears,

Pluto and Persephone sat in their thrones,

Took me in and erased my fears.

 

I'm dead.

I'm free.

I'm glad.

Let this be.

Author's Note

please comment and rate

Reviews

[Elizabeth]

I've always wondered that, myself. The images throughout create a montage that is oddly beautiful.

[Mart]

Very visual. I like the colors, grey, cherry, black, blood. Very nice images.

[Cassiopia Summers]

Wow, this is incredible. A piece that makes you actually ponder 'six feet under'.
I like the rhyme scheme you've created, which really helps the flow.

Great piece!! (: