Graveyard cherubs look so cold,
Immune to cries of sadness; fear,
But there are reliquary angels,
And old paintings, that wept real tears.
You plant your loved one
Like a tree, and never look back ever again;
But sing the songs and fight the battles,
Unearthly wars, of virtue; sin.
You do your time until it's done,
And then they'll come, to bare your bones,
Unto that crypt, with impassive angels;
And say with grief, that you are home.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 7:23 PM UTC
Graveyard cherubs look so cold,
Immune to cries of sadness; fear,
But there are reliquary angels,
And old paintings, that wept real tears.
You plant your loved one
Like a tree, and never look back ever again;
But sing the songs and fight the battles,
Unearthly wars, of virtue; sin.
You do your time until it's done,
And then they'll come, to bare your bones,
Unto that crypt, with impassive angels;
And say with grief, that you are home.
Request permission to use this poem