In someone's mind there is a place of graves,
And farther still a darkened potter's field,
Where loved ones in memoriam are saved,
And those whose names should never be revealed.
I blow through iron bars and paths 'tween stones,
To find the carvings of my former name,
Which mark the resting place of my dear bones,
And date the finite years of my life's fame.
More anxiously I blow into the field,
Instinctively the farthest place most dark,
Where frost and ice have most securely sealed
A single mound without a numbered mark.
I reach for bones I can no more disturb,
Discarded far enough to not perturb.
(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
In someone's mind there is a place of graves,
And farther still a darkened potter's field,
Where loved ones in memoriam are saved,
And those whose names should never be revealed.
I blow through iron bars and paths 'tween stones,
To find the carvings of my former name,
Which mark the resting place of my dear bones,
And date the finite years of my life's fame.
More anxiously I blow into the field,
Instinctively the farthest place most dark,
Where frost and ice have most securely sealed
A single mound without a numbered mark.
I reach for bones I can no more disturb,
Discarded far enough to not perturb.
(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
Request permission to use this poem