9.29.16 ©
I sit in cemeteries to center myself.
Filling my lungs with oxygen
While my friends lay under the earth.
What was the world like the last day they knew it?
Before it became their final resting place?
Is there anyone left to remember them?
I sit and lie and fantasize about
The incredible lives they must have lived.
Reality is most were no more than ordinary.
But to me, they bring comfort.
In an odd sort of way complex in its existence
What do they have to fear? Their lives are done.
But mine is not; not yet.
I have blood in my veins and life in my being.
What I do with these days is up to me.
I come here to remember
The lives before mine
As well as the fact that I still have mine to live.
And that is a gift
Even when it feels like a curse.
I have something in me these never get again.
The birds still sing.
The breeze still plays with the trees.
I breathe deeply.
The dead remind me why I'm alive.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
9.29.16 ©
I sit in cemeteries to center myself.
Filling my lungs with oxygen
While my friends lay under the earth.
What was the world like the last day they knew it?
Before it became their final resting place?
Is there anyone left to remember them?
I sit and lie and fantasize about
The incredible lives they must have lived.
Reality is most were no more than ordinary.
But to me, they bring comfort.
In an odd sort of way complex in its existence
What do they have to fear? Their lives are done.
But mine is not; not yet.
I have blood in my veins and life in my being.
What I do with these days is up to me.
I come here to remember
The lives before mine
As well as the fact that I still have mine to live.
And that is a gift
Even when it feels like a curse.
I have something in me these never get again.
The birds still sing.
The breeze still plays with the trees.
I breathe deeply.
The dead remind me why I'm alive.
