Earthbound.

If asked, I'd say there's common sense

in striving to avoid

the Reaper's scythe.

But the form we leave behind,

our physical impression,

we're foolish to be stubborn in releasing.

What lies in wait

are churchyards full of grey, decaying teeth,

that penetrate the soil towards the sky.

Silent hunger lingers there,

that settles over every broken stone;

assured their satiation

by our march into the ground.

We are reclaimed,

by force or by surprise.

Whether we are welcomed by the earth,

or by the sea

or by the wind,

we accept our dissolution to the elements,

or die in failed endeavour to resist.

S.M