The Work of Wood
I am the box you spend with eternity.
Holding what is left, what remains.
Anguish seeps down from shattered hearts
Releasing unbearable pain.
I look put together for a little while
Then I fall apart where no one can see.
Like excusing yourself into another room
So you can privately grieve.
My satin filled insides will eventually disperse.
Until the Earth claims what is rightfully hers.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
Letting go is a powerful must.
They lower me solemn and slowly
Earth welcoming me back home for good.
Beneath the soiled surface,
I perform the work of wood.
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