Sonnet: Evermore

I age; backwards I turn each page reread.

Repressing dread, merging birth to the dead.

The shoveling of dirt will not smother

Breath not inhaled, or the spirit broken,

Internment without avoiding the fear

Entombed from Mother Earth’s last embrace,

The sweet kiss of death lingering still fresh,

Sour forgiveness not begged or given.

Internal organs rotting as they must

And decay quietly waits to reawake

In new woven flesh, absent of regrets,

Without remembrances, hopes, dreams, or frets

From dust, conceived in lust, claw I must,

Traversing the bloody canal to birth.