I wish you could understand my mortality My acceptance of being called to the soil And being turned into gardens Ready to grow My soul Is immortal though, or I pretend it shall be, Lasting as long as mankind will Impacting it in it’s own small way. I wish I could open The empty cavity in my body And show you only the pulsating organic matter Buried deep inside Flowing red And ask you to find my light Buried somewhere inside Between metaphors In pages filled with too many scribbles That pretend to be poetry.
Janet Orlene
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