i will die
so will you.
the pictures on the wall
will end up in the trash
or old and tattered
in an attic.
our greatest of great-grandkids
won't know our faces or
how deeply we were saddened
to never see them grow
to never learn the world they know
to never speak their modern language
or watch the trees around them
for we'll be dead in the ground
and we'll never hear a sound
for what comes next ain't only silence
it ain't blood and it ain't violence
so for now we're killing time perhaps
we'll get laid or
learn to paint.
but in the end, it all goes out
into the trash
into the dust
and rest assured
into the ground.
if you choose to abuse me
i'd rather hear threats for ever than
hear no sound.
because if you're still here to hurt me
i can say that someone
before i'm buried in the ground.