Worm moon and the dead

A worm moon tonight,

Welcomes the vibrance of spring, 

Colors of life and hope, 

But me, glued in time, 

Staged as reddish brown autumn, 

Buried underneath a winter grave. 

Barely alive,rotting bit by bit, 

Eaten slowly by the earthworms, 

molding my former shape to debris, 

From the earth that I had once risen, 

Is the earth I have now become, 

But even in death, 

I haven’t lost the dream of green, 

Because I know someday, 

From my caracas, there would be, 

A sprout of spring!! 



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