Thoughts From The Grave

A voice from the past

What was once me, a singular entity,
is now scattered and rearranged.
tightly bound bones, are rested in the deep earth,
their scent carried on a dry wind.

I’ve become a whisper in the leaves, a ripple in the tide,
soft tissue, long since given back to soil and sea.
And the sharp edges of my being,
the defenses and vulnerabilities,
have softened, dissolved into the greater flow.

My personality, my thoughts — where did they go?
Did they fuel the growth of a tenacious weed,
or help a stranger find a fleeting feeling?
Perhaps I was a fragment of memory.