The Poetry of Saint Greyhound

Here's where my poetry is

Life, Death, and Life

Beneath the filtered light of a forest canopy

A skeleton lies in wait amongst the ferns.

Its memories have long since decayed

And any reminder of life is external.

It yearns

For the wet, warm, feeling of a beating heart and flesh,

The wet, warm, feeling of loved ones caressing its cheek,

Just the wet, warm, feeling of life.

It feels

The dry, cold feeling of solitude and loneliness,

The dry, cold feeling of being forgotten by those who left it,

Only the dry, cold feeling of death.

But as time goes on,

The wet warm feeling starts to return.

The fungi make their home in its ribs,

The sun beats down upon its skull,

The young foxes and squirrels run by on their quest for survival.

Little by little

The wet, warm feeling returns.