In a mausoleum

In a mausoleum

Speak softly.
echo, and the dead
are jealous
of the living.

In the dark
caves of Necros,
They mutter
against hot blood.

Covetous, they,
of the movement
of time not yet
not yet inert.

T’would kill their joy
to remember that,
when living, how
often they envied
the dead.


About elrondsilvermaul

I never know what to say about myself. I let what I write try to speak as to who I am. I can only add, here, that I am 72, live in a nursing home, am twenty years a cancer survivor, and identify as a gay male. I intend to use this blog as storage for poems? written over the long years (and still being written). This does not preclude other uses.
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