Somewhere there is a graveyard
with unmarked tombstones
and a distinct absence of bones
and the space under each headstone
is filled with all the words that were never said
all of the tongues that were bitten and held
and all of the mouths that fearfully stayed ****.
all of the thoughts that danced ‘round periphery of consciousness
like shadows flickering in firelight.
a mausoleum of missed trains and missed chances
an ardent arrangement of alternate realities,
a collection of people and things that slipped through the cracks.
an innumerable number of ivory crucifixes
stretch off into infinity,
one for every version of oneself
that dies when you make a choice
and placed gently atop every edifice,
a gossamer bouquet of asphodel
picked from a field of your own buried regrets.
countless conversations that never passed the threshold
of lips pursed shut with apprehension
can be found scribbled upon the leaves
of the great oak trees
that watch over this necropolis.
iron arms reach towards the onyx sky
and hold aloft a rusting sign
that simply says:
“here lies everything that could have been.”