And When He Turns To Dust

and then he is laid to rest
and be left in the silence of his grave...

the grasses take charge and
some seeds may grow to make flowers

no, not for him anymore
he turns to bones to dust he shall return

and there will be no more songs
no poems, not even his name shall be remembered

his songs perhaps but only for a while
our destiny like his is always in the beauty of forgetting...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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