No Trace

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No Trace

I am the blades of grass

I am the empty house

I am the side walk littered with glass

I am the cells that make you up

I am this body for a time

Until I die

 

Yet I want to feel, to feel forever

But my dreams they show the truth

They meander through the seams

Sewing juxtaposed realities together

And never knowing whether to believe their prophecies 

 

I've become a head full of marbles

Being cast for games

Using them as others have

As others shall use mine

After losing them as others have

To the next person in line

 

When a body lay itself breathless

It will become indistinct

No different

From the bodies lying asleep

Simply never to rise again

And the house consuming it

Shall become as one

A simple ornament 

Cast upon the floor

And the life consuming it

Shall sprout from a mound of dirt

Blending it eternally

As it has always been

 

But I will dig my hole in the sky

To bury myself among the stars

When all has turned to blackest night

No trace left to an eye

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

CaelTaylor’s Poems (11)

Title Comments
Title Comments
No Trace 0
Is it fair to say, "nothing is fair?" 1
Dreamsing 1
Something Is Different 1
Smile 1
Speculation 1
My Nostalgic Friend 1
In The Darkness Haunted 4
A Safe Place 1
Imagine 4
Embedded 1