Dead Label

Leighbal laid.

Leighbal stayed, still and afraid

Though dead and gone, his label stayed

Nothing but his label

Unable to dissemble

Felt enable and disabled

He tried to hold on,

Though wasn't stable

He wasn't able

To keep through, to keep strong

Wasn't capable to see what's true, so blue he became

Numb and none to blame

Electrified and petrified.

Outside of him, he stepped though he tried

Label held and so did he

Leighbal blank, distraught was he

Blown one way to the next

No fear or regret

Loose foundation he stood

One good blow—

And down he could go

Lay dead,

His label.

This poem was inspired by the grave. I know, it seems ironic that such a deceased place could bring back such life. But yes. As I walked around, I looked at tomb stones and saw a peculiar one, the name said Leighbal. Like the word label. And I just thought what harm a label could do. What ground it could break. So I tied two and two together and wrote about a man. A man who even though lie dead in his grave, his label lingered with him. The label the world laid with him.