The sun is setting, I must wait
For somebody to rescue me;
My memories, both slight and great
Won’t do, in any small degree

The service of empowering me.
The courage that I sorely need
Is distant as the Summer sea;
And I’m unsure how to proceed —

But yet: entombed and vacillant
It is, at last, the common fate:
We live as in an avalanche
We wait alone


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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

4 thoughts on “Inhumation”

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