He was buried on the Tuesday morn.
While the rest of the world slept.
Into the ground, like being unborn.
Darkness around the coffin crept.
And they left John there, in that hole the ground.
After covering him up with earth.
In spirits they wished their sadness to drown.
So drank their sorrow away to mirth.
But after a while, inside the box.
Poor John had started to stir.
From the top of his head, down to his socks.
Some chaos was about to occur.
For John wasn’t dead, he’d only been sleeping.
When they’d thought the worse and put under.
And now the panic, inside him was creeping.
To get out of that terrible blunder.
But the panic was not down to being buried alive.
Or confined in that horrible space.
For John was nearly ninety five.
And it was heaven he knew was his place.
So he did what anyone would down there.
In the dark and no longer young.
He crossed his chest and uttered a prayer.
Closed his eyes and swallowed his tongue


3 thoughts on “Interred

  1. loved the rhyming lines – rarely see this in your poetry and it moved so well, lie you were taking me down a river and navigated the bends so well – lyrical and sad but with such a message that he knew what to do to get to that place he knew was right for him. No wonder he lived till 95 – he was a wise. I thought of the TV series Glitch – have you heard of it?


    • Thank you, i normally do some rhyming as a fun release. I find them less taking. Heheh. No i’ve not seen, but just read on IMDB…looks interesting. Poor John though, haha

      Liked by 1 person

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