Six Feet Under
A sweet pine tree scent grips the swift air
As the wind blows through my untrimmed hair
Tree’s leaves spring off limbs like suicide attempts
Never to hit the ground below, life held in contempt
Clouds scurry through the sky in search of its end
Birds, airplanes, and mountains its must fend
As I wait for a cold sack of emptiness to drop
And lie forever bored as it rots
As its lowered on a prop
I see its top
I say stop!
Ok go.
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