What We Bury
by plainspokenrefuse
· 30/12/2025
Published 30/12/2025 18:18
He wore the quiet like a shroud,
a dusty book left on the shelf.
In the corner, muted laughter,
while we shuffled like ghosts, ourselves.
The church stood heavy, light dying slow,
a fading sun behind darkened blooms.
We stood at the altar, hearts brimming,
tracing memories, filling rooms.