Grave Digger

Stone cracks down the middle
Like clouds snipped in half
Numbers line the walls
Like literary math
Isn't that right, grave digger?
I think the crumbling words you speak would agree.

Red snow showers down
Upon the Victorian battle field
Little Susan places roses at her son's grave
Controlling her comfort
Isn't that right, grave digger?
I think those rose thorns would agree.

Ink is swallowed by newborn's thirsty desire
To quench the creative thirst
For acceptance
Isn't that right, grave digger?
I think their infected personalities would agree.

Selective hearing
Goes hand in hand
With preferred listening
Isn't that right, grave digger?
I think the letters would agree.

Crying without eyes is trusting yourself
Sculpting without hands is lying to reality
Kissing without lips is imagining
Smelling the sweet scent of rejection that seems to be just all too familiar
Is painful
Isn't that right, grave digger?
I think your soul would agree.