Another Dead Man’s Voice

They turned you into another

Dead Man’s Voice

That washes over the living

Wears them down

Brings them near.

They turned you into another

Grey Stone Statue

Where children aren’t

Supposed to play

They do, still

You’d like that.

They made you a bill

An edict, a chapter,

A Memorial Highway

They shook hands over you

They washed their hands over you

But long ago,

When your chest still fell

And you broke Statues

Shouted over Dead Men’s Voices

Ignored the edicts and Memorials,

You told me something.

That I will never share.

I will not let those words

Change into a quote

I will not give them to mouths

That will let them die on their tongues.

I will keep them with me,

So as much as they try to make you

Just a cold statue

And a few faded words

There will still be a bit of your breath

Left in this world

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Rabbit

Runs like a rabbit from a shot that can’t catch her,

But the rope is still hers alone.

Always feels it in her,

Always feels it ready,

And she’s sinking like a stone.

And she can run,

And she can leap,

As far as any can go,

But at the end of the day,

It’s such a short way,

To the end of the rope.

 

– Continuation of one of the first poems I posted here, I finished it a while ago, but never actually wrote it down. Sometimes I sing this to myself while doing dishes.