Grave

The hands that laid you

in the last dark bed

were defined, outlined

in ashen aura

of fetid embrace.

A  liar in mourning;

a heart untrue.

The wind on mountain

wild with despair

whipped its moan about

as if to free your soul

from this last touch

that asked so much.

Cold,

the  lazy hands and heart.

Lying.

whilst you living, giving

warm, alive,

were pirated, depleted.

Now your ashes feted

in lonely celebration.

It was not you interred

buried in the earthen pit.

© Grapher Nov 23,13