Nature’s Wrist : Sonnet #7

Death’s the only truth in my existence

What lies besmear the dead man's final word?

Heaven's mules may not fault heart's persistence

Nought I, nor saviors shall have thee adjourned

Within thy being's silhouette engraved

My print, my diction, fossiled memory

With heartbeat and when Silence's eyes glazed

Beneath my rein, afterlife's misery

Will ring like bells hung from sycamore trees

Collared 'round thy throat; Reach your final rest

Like filthy debris beneath sappy leaves

Decomposing, forgotten memories blessed

Floating back to the home I've gravely missed

Truth chiseled evermore in Nature's wrist