I Write In My Grave | Short Poem No. 110

I write where I passed. . . I write in my grave.
I write in passing. . . there’s naught I can save.
Writing can sometimes rekindle my gall.
Can writing sometimes rekindle a crawl?

Would you ditch me here in this tomb to rot?
You observed me carefully mark my spot.
I sunk in sin, duped by a false lover.
What love grants you to die for another?

I write in my grave
Photo by Josh Miller on Unsplash


I grew in sin, became a false lover.
False love robbed you of me to another.
What’s reckless, what’s not. I deserve it all.
But cautious love will seize me when I fall.

I lie in my grave. . . I whisper your name. . .
Remind myself that love’s always the same.

Sometimes, My Only Friend

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

Author: Jonathan Pines

I have experienced a lot in life. For a while, I kept it all inside of me. But now it's time to let it out. I'm writing with all of life's saltiness, perfecting poetry in the process.

21 thoughts on “I Write In My Grave | Short Poem No. 110”

  9. Pingback: I Though You Were Dead | Short Poem No. 111 – Writing with Strangers

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