the sleeping me

The little me
sleeps and schemes
projecting illusive
dreams,
dancing with maya
and avoiding the fire
that could wipe it's karma
clean.
And the soul sits
in prayerful pose
waiting to be
seen,
smiling gently
at sleeping me
seduced by how
it seems.

grave robber

He stands in the shadows,
black suit and tie
prying open
our dark moldy coffin
Why? I cry,
helpless to stop him,
as each rusty nail
falls to the ground
without a sound
wood splinters and
I can only observe
heartbeat unsteady
this grave robber
back for more
whose stolen too much
already.

(P.S. - Rusty nails are dangerous. I hope you get tetanus.)