Groody – Death Poems
Groody blew spices,
it sounded like jazz in the south
but that was a long time ago.
When he kicked the bucket
all the neighborhood kids hushed outside,
thinking he would come back and play
if they were quiet.
The folks who danced to his sound,
when he played in town
never went back there again.
It all just felt too empty without the music.
Groody had brittle hands
and lips that told stories in melodies.
Groody was a musician.
(Poem by FecalTongue)
Posted in Death Poems and Poetry, Thematic Poems and Poetry
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