Ash and dung

Ash and dung

After my suicide the day cleared up
and blue skies rained only when unheeded.
Voices that once annoyed me ceased to call
and threads that bound me to this world unraveled.
There was no longer need to stay in touch
or smell the dead. Roses that once had cast
their thorns unhooked and withered. No taste nor
memory lingered among my bones. Yet I
arose from ash and dung, long past my death,
still begging to forget you.


© Kåre Enga 2006 [162.688]