I want to lay in a field shorn of all its burdens


In my old, pale blue jeans, with my torn black shirt

I want to lay with my arms stretched to the earth

As I lay on the dust of all dead men

My darkened eyes taking in the greatness of a vast, immense sky


A sky that has seen every thing that all dead men have done

Loved, fought, killed, raped, cared, ached

My hands look like mock wings stretched out before it, with my wrists bent and my palms kiss the sky



Rue @2010