I lay on the leafy flesh
that veils
the jutted rocks,
protruding
from the rich earth.
I lay beneath
the swaying limbs
like that of a skirt
upon a dancer's waist.
and gnarled trunks
which wait,
a short while to rot.
I lay under the
tickled pink sky
that watches
my twisted body lay.
I lay dead,
cold, motionless
and without
spirit or soul.
My vacant eyes
watch the empty promises
of the world, as I lay.
I lay, while the world lies.
Without spirit or soul all the same.
For, while no one is watching,
the leaves curl into crinkled brown wads.
The trees droop
and the green grass wilts, beneath I.
The sky darkens,
and the sun dims
suggesting the night to come.
The world silently
fades without sound or warning
