David Briel

But you came along with your nimble green fingers,
And decided to do your gardening here.
You drew the roots, fingered your way, piercing my soil.
I was your plant, and you drowned me, threw me aboard.
And as my leaves were howling,
I tuned my last chord

They had a search team come for me two weeks too late
Found my carcass hanging from branches by the ridge of the lake.
They closed my eyes, and sarcastically said «This is great».
But you were one in the crowd, grinning at the turning heads
They took my picture, and the news flash screamed «dead»

I know you lost someone, I know it hurt you —
It must have.
Although you took my seed, you could have given life,
But instead you hid it with the rest, deeply beneath your bed.
Please forgive me — that’s what I said.
And I know you’re no angel.
You can’t bring back what’s lost.
you still pass my stone on Sundays when it’s said to be rain,
And you carve into it, numbers;
The passing people deem you insane,
But you just want to keep track of time.
You bow your head and plead for forgiveness,
But if i could speak, I would tell you to get back in line.

You bring me poppies and plant them on my grave, you still call this love,
But you have no tools, no can, no glove.
Your hand’s engulfing my dirt,
And you’re watering my thirst
With a touch of brine, steeped to hold me.

I won’t live forever.
There I draw the line.