Horace

Twist off the heads
of these Canopic jars
Spill out the putrid remnants
of what once were me
Breathe fresh soul
into this dry corpse of a man
Prematurely buried
from empty years of hopelessness,
sadness and despair
Years of standing naked
screaming into a crowd,
no ears hear - no eyes see
Unwrap these bandage fetters
and set this mummy free

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.