This is a tomb. I would say, from the shape. Of  the stone. The placement. It faces … east.

Please: let’s move on. The sky is the grey, of stone. The sound, in the leaves, of wind, fills me … with questioning.

For a tomb to be, here. On a green hill. It must often stand here, in the sun. In the summer, sun.

I’m—tired. Yet it’s better to go on. It is not so far, our destination. It could be … just beyond here.

A minute. Only a minute.

Only a minute. I’ll sit.

It’s quiet.

It’ s quiet.

The wind, now, even. It’s…

Shall we move on?

Let’s move on, shall we? Shall we, then?

Help me rise.

Help me rise.

Take me, please, from here. Help me.

Help me rise.

Help me, rise.

For Christ’s sake can’t you help me?


If you like what you see on my site, you really ought to buy me a coffee (or two). More coffee = more stories, poems, cartoons and drawings for you to enjoy. Without coffee … I don’t even want to dream, of that.



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