When teeth grind
sleepily, a soul is angry.
Blemished.
A rotten part of a potato.
When a soul is
angry, death is Over.
Do not fear.
Do not panic.
Do not grieve.
Death is Over.
When death is Over, shoes
do not matter, but
He is felt sorry for.
So, He goes. Into the Earth
like a potato
to rot.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 
Kind of a dark day….
Wow! I just love this. It’s so different.
Oh, MM, you are so readable!
This is damn good, love it to bits, well done.
You are so right , spot on!
Great poem! so true. you are very creative and talented!
Reblogged this on kissmyellipses.