Decay

Out of sight and out of sound
In the dirt under the mound.
There lies our good intentions
Many more that we don't mention.
Where the Earth fills our lungs,
And the bugs climb slick rungs.
Where the water seeps in deep
What you sow is what you reap.
A corporeal sort of punishment
Giving way to the black lament.
We settle into rocks and mud
Nourishing the world with blood.