Requiem

commit mortality to ground
on a day despised

and holy ground is cleaved;
the grave is a wound
clay exposed like muscle

The wordless sound
of pain,
an echo of
the dead's thin cry, stretched over weeks
and a ribcage
heaving with distress.

or would flesh like wood
char and flake
deliver news of anguish
in the same message you forsook
when life still clung