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alaska-1Poems
At first, I felt like an invader. A trespasser in these spirits’ home. The stillness swirled around me, as if it were trying to dizzy me away. The tombstones didn’t want me there. I was abhorrent. But then, I felt a kindling inside of me. And as I sat in solitude under the withered old tree between the graves at 2am, I couldn’t help but feel like the tombstones were my friends. I couldn’t help but feel like a tombstone myself. All I was was a symbol for what I had once been, a memory of who I once was. What was inside of me, though, was just ashes of the past. Sometimes people visited, dropping off a flower of hope or love or anguish, But once that flower died, I was dead. I started to cry. I cried for these people, these new friends of mine. I cried for their pasts. I cried for my own. And in that moment, I realized, I was meant to be a tombstone. People were meant to visit my grave. People were meant to cry for me. I wasn’t meant to have a happy life. I was meant to have a memorable death. I was meant to transform into a tombstone, for the world to visit and cry for. And that was okay with me. {alaska}
0
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
The Cemetery
At first, I felt like an invader. A trespasser in these spirits’ home. The stillness swirled around me, as if it were trying to dizzy me away. The tombstones didn’t want me there. I was abhorrent. But then, I felt a kindling inside of me. And as I sat in solitude under the withered old tree between the graves at 2am, I couldn’t help but feel like the tombstones were my friends. I couldn’t help but feel like a tombstone myself. All I was was a symbol for what I had once been, a memory of who I once was. What was inside of me, though, was just ashes of the past. Sometimes people visited, dropping off a flower of hope or love or anguish, But once that flower died, I was dead. I started to cry. I cried for these people, these new friends of mine. I cried for their pasts. I cried for my own. And in that moment, I realized, I was meant to be a tombstone. People were meant to visit my grave. People were meant to cry for me. I wasn’t meant to have a happy life. I was meant to have a memorable death. I was meant to transform into a tombstone, for the world to visit and cry for. And that was okay with me. {alaska}
alaska-1
Written by
alaska-1
American
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
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