Summary

The text "Sepulcher" is a poetic reflection on the themes of ownership, decay, and the cycle of life and death.

Abstract

"Sepulcher" is a contemplative poem that evokes imagery of decay and preservation, using the motif of a tomb or burial place to explore themes of possession and the indifference of time. The speaker defends their claim over what is theirs, amidst the backdrop of a world filled with hunger and theft. The poem speaks to the struggle of maintaining identity and legacy in the face of nature's relentless and indifferent progression. It touches on the futility of human endeavors in the grand scheme of existence, while also acknowledging the beauty and radiance that can be found in the midst of an unforgiving landscape. The text suggests a cycle of life, death, and rebirth, implying that the speaker has experienced multiple lifetimes and is weary of the repetition. Ultimately, the poem conveys a sense of acceptance, recognizing that one's efforts and identity will eventually dissolve, leading to a state of peace and self-sufficiency in the afterlife.

Opinions

The speaker feels a strong need to protect their possessions from those who would take them.
There is a sense of disdain towards those who envy and seek to take what others have worked for.
The poem reflects on the cyclical nature of life, acknowledging the inevitability of death and the end of personal endeavors.
The author seems to find a sort of solace or beauty in the silence and stillness of the sepulcher, away from the chaos of life.
The text suggests that the speaker is tired of the struggles of life and is ready for the peace that comes with the end of the cycle.
There is an underlying message that personal identity and achievements may be transient, but there is a form of eternal self-keeping in death.

Sepulcher

mud and stone.

damaged and deliberate.

ill keep whats mine,

opaque and indifferent.

this hardened head

for fools to eat of.

they love to steal,

to cover in my clothes.

watching wolves from afar.

their hunger,

an odor.

exonerating themselves,

for kill,

after kill.

trap doors for no mores,

living lifeless in limestone.

little beauties burning effigies,

never practicing with purity.

the howls of the hungry

bringing death to the dead.

simple septors

for the delusional,

indiscreet and hopelessly marred.

take whats yours

and leave whats mine.

ive been here many times.

road to rails,

trailing in ash.

its better here.

no sounds,

no screams.

no handfuls of hearts,

no bloodied hands to have to hold.

intuitives and dimwits

secretly scorning the enviable.

im too tired to tremble

while grieving granite ghosts.

too amiable an admirer

to taunt the whispering wanderer.

its a given,

a beginning,

a middle.

and an end.

its staying alive,

in an undisclosed beehive.

but the radiance is here,

in the middle of somewhere.

you can grab

and gnash

and scowl

and scrape,

thinking thoughts of worried wishes.

thinking thoughts of nevermore.

dont outsmart your disintegration

because beyond,

a place of passage.

~and this will matter none~

transmuted without terror,

a veritable glory.

forever your own keeper

in a long awaited home.