Oct 2023
summer of sprinklers & sparklers
empty, sullen, somber autumn air
dark gray is the only color left
as the sky weeps like our loved ones
who question why...why...why did they have to go?...
when i can't sleep at night i still ask myself the same thing.
it isn't exactly comfortable enough to dream here in this 3 x 7 oak box.
this isn't how i want to remember us.
the yellow rose was a fallacy...the roses left at our grave are wilting & oozing black tears...
no one has visited in a while or changed out the water let alone leave new flowers
only brown leaves swirl in circles, dancing across the damp earth, intertwined with the mist & fog from the bog
i wish i could at least dance with your ghost but you haven't come out, not once.
i roam the grounds alone, staring up at the stars wondering if i could have spared us this grim ending...
and this isn't how i want to remember us.
my tears nurture this soil, making baby's breath bloom everywhere they fall beneath my bare frostbitten toes.
even though our fire dimmed to death these bones still ache for it's warmth
i swear i was going to love you...and i could swear you did too...
it was an open casket, you lied there with your eyes closed but darling i was still looking at you...searching for a sign of reversal...
did you see the look of shock & dismay on their faces at our wake?...or how many tears were shed at our burial?
no one saw this coming, not even us...not even you.
that may be the worst part.
i may have been a poet but not even i could have rewritten our narrative,
no amount of adjectives or metaphors could have resurrected our story.
but this is not how i want to remember us.
our headstone remains unwritten as they move your body to the countryside...my cheeks sink in & limbs all decay
and though we're long gone, they can still see me with a shovel at 11:11 when the moon illuminates the earth...weeping with the sky... still trying to resurrect what we used to be . . .
empty, sullen, somber autumn air
dark gray is the only color left
as the sky weeps like our loved ones
who question why...why...why did they have to go?...
when i can't sleep at night i still ask myself the same thing.
it isn't exactly comfortable enough to dream here in this 3 x 7 oak box.
this isn't how i want to remember us.
the yellow rose was a fallacy...the roses left at our grave are wilting & oozing black tears...
no one has visited in a while or changed out the water let alone leave new flowers
only brown leaves swirl in circles, dancing across the damp earth, intertwined with the mist & fog from the bog
i wish i could at least dance with your ghost but you haven't come out, not once.
i roam the grounds alone, staring up at the stars wondering if i could have spared us this grim ending...
and this isn't how i want to remember us.
my tears nurture this soil, making baby's breath bloom everywhere they fall beneath my bare frostbitten toes.
even though our fire dimmed to death these bones still ache for it's warmth
i swear i was going to love you...and i could swear you did too...
it was an open casket, you lied there with your eyes closed but darling i was still looking at you...searching for a sign of reversal...
did you see the look of shock & dismay on their faces at our wake?...or how many tears were shed at our burial?
no one saw this coming, not even us...not even you.
that may be the worst part.
i may have been a poet but not even i could have rewritten our narrative,
no amount of adjectives or metaphors could have resurrected our story.
but this is not how i want to remember us.
our headstone remains unwritten as they move your body to the countryside...my cheeks sink in & limbs all decay
and though we're long gone, they can still see me with a shovel at 11:11 when the moon illuminates the earth...weeping with the sky... still trying to resurrect what we used to be . . .
