De La Muerta

An original poem, by me.

Underneath the soil and dirt,

Lays a million years of toil and hurt.

A million tongues that were left to rot,

A million eyes that have seen what we've not.

Imagine if the dead could talk...

Oh, the stories that they'd tell us in shock!

No one knows what the dead have seen,

If only we could meet them and wipe the slate clean.