PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Drops trail toward the path
Newton knew all things fall
But behind each drop
Evidence grips the pane
Or the cheek
To the inevitable
For graves are made
Of lost lovers
Memories fade and yellow
Images deteriorate
The breakdown is a rot
Mold covers the tracks
Pries loose the evidence
Time cannot heal
It only clears the path
That leads to graves
Made of nothing important
Wishes are made on stars
But stars die too
All
With
Time
And with time
We too will trail toward the path
And our matter will rot
And we will form one being
In our little graves
Of diseased spores
Black deaths
And bloated worms