Here lies the body of a well-loved
human -under this pile of stones
a power decayed
Even though, in his generation
his people loved and praised him
now he is a sonnet; a sealed container of dust
We stand, his future, new generations
sprouted from the past and remember his
name and the territory of his revolution
but none of us can smell his morning breath
or feel the warmth of his penis in their mouth
Annieepoetry 