Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
A graveyard speaks in gentle groans,
While winds whisper to lonely hills,
Chilling stoic standing stones,
That display cold names departed,
That overshadow buried bones,
And shade the brokenhearted.

Climbing vines grasp as they creep,
Turmoil settles as winds calm.
Distressed decades drift to sleep.
A moment to rest anguished ages.
Yet dirt sown remains to reap,
Wisdom of forgotten sages.

Awakened, a dusty breeze enhances,
Fluttering leaves and stirring grass.
Lives lived are in these turbulent dances,
Men and women you may never know.
Their dreams, loves and lost romances,
Triumphs and tragedies of long ago.

Transformed, into breath -- inhaled by lungs,
Personal particles drawn from air.
Unpaid debts and deeds left undone.
Regret, anger, fear and despair,
Battles lost, exhale the same as victories won,
As do the prophet and the prayer.

Perhaps the body is not my curse,
Reality so fragile as to change with a gust.
I sense my thinking was in reverse,
If my soul's intuition is a force I trust.
Then I know I am not lived to death,
But dying to birth, the living dust.
Hear this poem: http://youtube.com/poetryspoken

Gust by Nathan Elliott Stephen Green
is licensed under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike
3.0 Unported License.

Dedicated to my late uncle, Kenneth B. Zeitler.
It may be impossible to perfectly portray,
How joyfully you walked the meadow away.
To sit against your reading tree on a beautiful day,
Oh, the words of love I could not bring myself to say.

How close might we have grown?
If in that moment I had known,
To kneel, to beg God to postpone --
An illness unseen, a fate unknown.

As your head -- fell to rest,
I thought no other could be so blest.
As to nap in the place they loved best,
Though your heart lay idle inside your chest.

There, in the meadow - beside your tree,
Is where I placed a rose for thee.
For it was your favorite place to be,
And where I keep you in my memory.

When you came near I always fled,
My heart felt love, while my brain saw red.
And now my hands hold my head,
'I love you, my lovely dead'...
Hear this poem: http://youtube.com/poetryspoken

In the Meadow by Nathan Elliott Stephen Green
is licensed under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike
3.0 Unported License.

— The End —