Mortician Termites (Repost June 2016)

Neatly pressed,
In white suits
They gather the dead
Burying the memories
Devouring the homes
They dig deeper and deeper
Pulling everything away
So we weep
Watching the walls fall
Make a home in our grief
They try to comfort us
As escorting us out the door
They gather up our dead
Memories and thoughts
Burrowing through them
So they fit perfectly
In a tiny hole in the ground
Leaving only ashes in our hands


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