Alright, so Day of the Dead made me write this…No I’m not morbid. Just thoughtful. Who doesn’t think about these things eventually…Also it’s completely party of the cycle of birth and death. Death happens to us all and it’s fair to think about, and write about for that matter. Or maybe I wrote this after getting the Edgar Allen Poe quote tattooed on my arm: ” All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream”. Without further suspense, my somewhat morbid poem that I fear will make you worry needlessly about my mental state.

To Where We Wander To

Where do we go after

when our lives are done. 

Are we only buried nine feet deep and each day sinking,

falling a little deeper

into the desiccated desert earth.

Where nothing grows,

Hardly a chance of regeneration now.

All is dormant

“Slip silently away my friend…”

The pallid moon speaks softly in our sleep

She beckons us into the arid night

Past the rocky ravines and spiraling zeniths

Where darkness gets colder,

Where does our heart go? 

Does it to fade farther into the hostile west

Where it learns to circumnavigate the world’s most barren landscapes

These landscapes that envelop us until we can no longer remember

No longer remember how we used to wander

Through pine and juniper

Smelling their sweetness

Their newness. 

their tender breathes of life.