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Henry Oct 5
I crackle through dead leaves
Layered over dry, green grass
Hands in my pockets
Making sure not to trip
I crouch in front of a stranger's grave
A rough, stone reminder
Of a soul lost in time
I read their name aloud
And I let them know they're not forgotten
October 5, 2020
Daniel Sep 21
An empty shell is what you called me,
a fading ghost of what I could be.

You'll never know how much that haunts me,
those words are hell and I can't break free.

Now it's my own thoughts that harm me,
you spoke toxins and I believed.

Now my skull is a cemetery,
filled with ghosts of what I should be.
Be kind to each other. Words don't fade.
fireheart Jul 5
I do not know how she lived,
Nor how she came to die.
Was she fair, or strong as iron
I cannot say but I

Stand above her, pondering her history.

Caroline. Buried lovingly,
Under tombstone of ivory
Now here she lay, to rest a day
Covered in tangled ivy.

The land taking claim of the cemetery.
DT Jun 15
I am a cemetery
And all of your memories engraved
With your name, months and date
I am all that lavender and daisies
Waiting for clouds with heavy rains
As you left and ruin me like hurricanes
We are the cemetery
Totti Night Apr 21
The moist air and bright green grass joined the stone and mold and tears to make the saddest smell of time.

No bird was singing, no insect buzzing, all silent, stood still as Sky wore the darkest clouds, beautiful and compassionate.

The gloomy dome reached the earth to kiss her cheeks. The cold breeze tenderly brushed her hair, in this garden of stone flowers.
Death its gardener.

And as the mother kneeled before a rose, the most painful of them all, a cry tore the silence and cracked the ground.
So heavy the burden of love.
My first attempt
Completing the Pattern
by Michael R. Burch

Walk with me now, among the transfixed dead
who kept life’s compact and who thus endure
harsh sentence here—among pink-petaled beds
and manicured green lawns. The sky’s azure,
pale blue once like their eyes, will gleam blood-red
at last when sunset staggers to the door
of each white mausoleum, to inquire—
"What use, O things of erstwhile loveliness?"

Keywords/Tags: death, sentence, dead, cemetery, graveyard, mausoleum, corpses, manicured, lawn, flowers, pink, petals, blue, sky, red, sunset
Crescendo Against Heaven
by Michael R. Burch

As curiously formal as the rose,
the imperious Word grows
until its sheds red-gilded leaves:
then heaven grieves
love’s tiny pool of crimson recrimination
against God, its contention
of the price of salvation.

These industrious trees,
endlessly losing and re-losing their leaves,
finally unleashing themselves from earth, lashing
themselves to bits, washing
themselves free
of all but the final ignominy
of death, become
at last: fast planks of our coffins, dumb.

Together now, rude coffins, crosses,
death-cursed but bright vermilion roses,
bodies, stumps, tears, words: conspire
together with a nearby spire
to raise their Accusation Dire ...
to scream, complain, to point out these
and other Dark Anomalies.

God always silent, ever afar,
distant as Bethlehem’s retrograde star,
we point out now, in resignation:
You asked too much of man’s beleaguered nation,
gave too much strength to his Enemy,
as though to prove Your Self greater than He,
at our expense, and so men die
(whose accusations vex the sky)
yet hope, somehow, that You are good ...
just, O greatest of Poets!, misunderstood.

Published by NeoVictorian/Cochlea, Poetry Life & Times and The Eclectic Muse. Keywords/Tags: crescendo, heaven, salvation, price, graves, coffins, crosses, cemetery, church, spire, God, distant, silent, misunderstood
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