My Bricks

To be whole

would be a lovely,

empty thing.

Bricks of your being, never

flung to far the corners,

would be a painless,

silent life.

My ashes now lay

in some boxes here,

a hilltop there.

My air fills the odd room,

and lingers in the road.

Published by R.T

Brit born and Canada bound, I run On Tuesdays, my poetry blog where I write weekly(ish) poems.

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