A shovel strikes a mound of dirt
Earth sifts into the void.
A gray box lies still within
Tears rush unchecked, emptiness.
No primitive rite can undo
The horror. Breathing fires new
Pain. There is no forgiveness.
A shovel strikes a mound of dirt,
Earth sifts into the void.
An excuse was made, pale solace
No harm was meant, no hurt intended,
Yet unlike Lazarus, no life returns.
Our lament remains unanswered.
Deaths knell resounds, endlessly.
A shovel strikes a mound of dirt,
Earth sifts into the void.
Bloodless rage flows through me.
Damn the drunken tour.
The music silent, the laughter
Stilled, loneliness grows root.
No punishment will repay me.
A shovel strikes a mound of dirt.
Earth sifts into the void.
Extinguishing the light of my world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi Sandra; The lowering of the casket and the sound the first shovelful of earth hitting it, is a sound that is never forgotten. You have expressed this in a very moving poem which is well written and with not one word of self pity... well done!