Sleeping
in a pine box
thinking
about the other day
sleeping
in a pine box
dreaming
that this time
it’ll
all turn out some other way
It’s
sad how fast we deteriorate
breaking
free, rotting unto the lost domains
unprepared
for what will be claimed
we
grow resigned in the mannerisms of loneliness and loss
where
stagnating shards fragment and shape our future plots
Sleeping
in a pine box
thinking
about the others
sleeping
in a pine box
all
the father’s, daughters, sons and mothers
It’s
amazing how things often come down
to
the number of correct decisions we make,
the
one’s we never would have made
if
not for one mistake, often an accidental turn
we,
at the time, deemed to be entirely incorrect
And
we never would have had the opportunities
to
live and to love, to bleed and to sweat
all
those intangible emotions that
would
not be available now, or
would
not be available in the innumerable futures yet to come
But
the erroneous turn we did commit
and
the flaw will forever be remembered
when
necessary, for sensorial exhumation
Sleeping
in a pine box
thinking
about the other day
sleeping
in a pine box
eyes
closed yet open, wide as they’ve ever stayed
And
in these containers
we
hold our cherished mistakes
as
one would keepsake any artifact
that
holds close the unmeasured meanings
ever
available for conjuring crucial memories lost but never forgotten…in a pine box
