i'm standing by the marker stone
feeling wind upon my face
listening to the echoes from the grave
i feel the tears freeze on my cheeks
from the wind upon my face
as i listen to the echoes from the grave

I'm in a darkened corner of the graveyard
It's overgrown and not well kept
It's been a long time since a visitor
Has on these markers wept

I feel the spirits all around me here
I hear their voices on the wind
There is not a single angel here
These are souls who all have sinned

The grass has grown halfway up the stone
You see the name but not the years
It's been decades since any marker here
Has been whetted down with tears

I tend the grass and **** growth
Cut it back right to the ground
And except for ghostly echoes
I do not hear a sound

The man here was my father once
Though I don't recall his face
But, here he lies, worm food and dust
In this long forgotten place

The voices of other souls do float
Waiting for someone to show
But, their families died out years back
And those left, they do not know

I hear them as they call out names
Frozen snippets lost in time
And though I am on my father's grave
Nobody calls out mine

i'm standing by the marker stone
feeling wind upon my face
listening to the echoes from the grave
i feel the tears freeze on my cheeks
from the wind upon my face
as i listen to the echoes from the grave

I saw your face,
From the corner of my eye.
I turned to look ,
But you where not  there.
I had almost forgotten that it had been years,
But For a moment i felt you so near.
I went to see your grave that day,
I miss you buddy,
And I'm still sad you passed away.

I told you that you were the only girl that I'd ever kiss, but now I'm sitting here trying to hold hands with a tombstone pleading that instead of feeling grass beneath my fingertips I felt your skin.

I will be the first one to tell you that sometimes distance is an issue. If I spend all day screaming the same question hoping the graveyard will elicit some response, is it love or co-dependency?

The Earth that engulfed you lacks the ability to tell me that it's not my fault. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe if I had loved you a little differently you'd be helping me write this instead of inspiring it.

Now that you're gone the only ones that listen to me are the trees, and I will tell you something sweetheart- The weeping willow is tired of crying.

He brought me flowers last year
Three flowers on Valentine
It's obvious he meant HE LOVES ME
Though he didn't give a line

He brought me flowers last month
Seven flowers on a January eve
I asked him what he meant there
He said I LOVE YOU SO MUCH,  DON'T LEAVE

He brought me flowers last week
Six flowers on my birthday
"Why six? " I asked him softly
"I LOVE YOU FOREVER,  PLEASE STAY"

He brought me flowers this morning
Many flowers on February
But I cannot ask him anymore
When in his eyes those tears I see

He brought me flowers with love
On my grave,  now it's all I have...

someday she will spit on my gravestone
eyes glistening, lips red and hands full
standing in the blanket of fog alone
her shadow gracing the aging marble
like the eventual darkening of a monolith
by the temper of the sun setting
at the fall of a holy empire and with
a desperate, widespread bloodletting

Drifting into oblivion
everything fades into a blur
a faint glimmer of hope lost

Swaying in the wind
weightless heading for a thousand swords
in a stream of fallen dreams

Grasping my heavy armor
I sink into the water
pierced by your nightmarish lies*

Where the truth is beyond the grave
poison lives within the veins
and from death we are but an inch away