Lay the stone across my coffin.
Lock the gates.
Give it time.
Let the vines grow like choking arms
and cover me with murderous green.
Tell the fairy tales,
Grimm’s most horrid
and scare the little children.
But know this.
I will never be as dead as you imagine.
Ressurection is in my bones
bred deep into my soul,
sure as the sun
behind the clouds,
I will return.
About this poem
Could be an Easter poem. Could be part of my own story, or the story of others I love. Maybe yours.
The picture is of George Washington’s Grave in Mount Vernon. Virginia.