Catching her tears in the breeze
From one row of headstones to the next
Some days you would see her ghost
Walking up and down
Like a private on patrol.
Entwined with the sun
Just before sunrise
Creeps over the hill
Cascading into a silent film
As the shadows sank away
Repeating his name over
Like a broken tape machine
Caught up in a tangle
Of half forgotten prayers
In at least two different languages
Echoing in the wind
Butterfly shaped with regrets
In a tidal mystery of anger
If things had been
So very different
Over skeletons of feelings
Before they turned
Into scraps of meanings
After the burnt out end of summer
Into a willow shaped autumn
Following him
To the grave
Within weeks
Filled with nothing
But regret.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
Catching her tears in the breeze
From one row of headstones to the next
Some days you would see her ghost
Walking up and down
Like a private on patrol.
Entwined with the sun
Just before sunrise
Creeps over the hill
Cascading into a silent film
As the shadows sank away
Repeating his name over
Like a broken tape machine
Caught up in a tangle
Of half forgotten prayers
In at least two different languages
Echoing in the wind
Butterfly shaped with regrets
In a tidal mystery of anger
If things had been
So very different
Over skeletons of feelings
Before they turned
Into scraps of meanings
After the burnt out end of summer
Into a willow shaped autumn
Following him
To the grave
Within weeks
Filled with nothing
But regret.
