Burials Honour

 

    My life begins out of 

time, so too the maiden

I love,

     We never end nor

the love - as there is

no time for dying.

 

     Living is a problem

as we traverse the

     Inhospitable,

unsure why no register

of empath who guide the lost.

     Why only a cross,

Sickle or scythe can transfix

an ignorance of life?

 

     There are scriptures -

black and white scribed

upon two dimensional forms

that soothe an inept mind,

     but for my wife and I - 

no past, no present or future,

only a hiding time.

 

     'The loop can begin again, or end, again!'

 

     Caterwails off a public ridicule

are seasoning the injuries,

     the pain - star like and shrined

before a vestibule where

     religious zealots welcome the

forcing of 'just cause.'

 

     Still, still, and still,

there is someone missing,

someone 'extinct' as the

foetus sits within formaldehyde 

     bottle; brown like skin - 

the vessel shares not the

depth of my wife and I,

     only a stolen,

where zones decide we

never existed and nor,

     our childs.  

 

 

Michael j Waite 15th August 2022. For the one that didn't make it. For every 'one' that didn't make it. Xxx