Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Amanda Jan 22
she wept near the grave of her father,
knees digging into the fresh dirt.
her tears watered the earth beneath
her limbs.
deep sobs escaped her throat.
her father stood near.
not yet enough energy to form
and apparition for his daughter--
maybe some day.

he could see others pacing beside
their graves--wandering.
with a slight tip of the hat
to another nearby soul
and a sigh towards his kin,
he vanished with a gust of wind.
she turned, rubbing her puffy eyes
wishing it were him.
disappointed, she lays down
on top of the soil, six feet between her
and the freshly departed.
Todd Cheng Jan 15
When all the tombstones one day succumb and crumble away to dust
There will be Hope still left over, I trust
For all the dead souls who deserve not to be forgot
In a fair and just world there must

For all those darling celebrities who were lovely and hot
And worked tirelessly to be worshiped for something they were not
They toiled and twisted to be seen as the best of the best
Was all their admirable effort for naught?

And all those soldiers robbed of being old, who were laid to rest
To suffer together in a place of pain at someone else’s behest
Who chose to go to a place that we call inhumane
And then died with their wishes and dreams unexpressed

And for all those persons we see everyday
Who should not disappear, and deserve to have their stories be told
But truly to those that have pulled us from sorrow and shown us the way
And made our ordinary lives shine a hue of brilliant gold

I hope that one day dust will be forgotten as something to fear
And that high Heaven can come softly rest on the mortal sphere
Karisa Brown Dec 2018
What are we reaching for
Brynn S Nov 2018
Bite your tongue off
Produce no more screams
Melting away
Everlasting dreams
You ****** creature
Each word a mist
Spraying and spouting
Lies of the wrist
I have found no light for all is dead
Writing down terms of those who have said
Once before you’ve shown me light
Never again will I not fight
Break your bones
Grind them to powder
Wash them away
Seep and become prouder
You salt of the earth
What a delight
I see you near
No need for the fright
i remember the fifth day of the sixth month,
when i kissed your cold body,
it lay in that ebony black coffin,
and i kept quiet, despite knowing you loathed the color black.

back to the day i saw you helpless for the first time,
you fell while walking, you drooled, and you forgot faces.
but you always said, "the day i forget you, you is time"
i brushed the hair out of your face, and held back a tear.

when they said "few weeks more", i cupped your hands in mine.
i looked at them, they were frail and cold and soft,
twisted from the adversities you've faced.
this time, you tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

2 weeks later when i sat beside you, praying,
you asked who i was and why i was watching you sleep.
i ran out of the room, and screamed into a pillow.
it was time.

it was time; to let go of my muse
                                     of my home
                                      of my solace
it was time for the hardest part - goodbye.

today, as i stand near your grave, i smile
i place daisies and share a meal with your ethos.
you were an enigma of a women,
hallelujah, i say.
for my beloved grandmother, who i miss a lot.
Sara Kellie May 2018
And in the silence that's often deafening, I hear my heart that still beats.
Reminding me of more pain to come, disguised as truths we are their lies.
After all these years there's no surprise.
Whispered softly into your ears, we are the makers of salty tears.
One day your heart, cold, blue and torn will cease to beat, when death is born.
Life's light will fade for one last time, up through the clouds your soul will climb.
A breeze from the graveyard whispers death but that's ok, I hold its hand.
A smile in the dark I understand, the effort you've shown, this was all planned.
Congratulations to you, my life is through.
Tired, so tired. Wondering if I have the right number. Waiting for it to be called.
Isaac Sep 2018
this world will spin
mankind will buzz
people will die
new eras will begin
our graves wait
pulling us steadily
with the rope of time
some long
some short
some very short
which could be you
so do not live
without this truth
in your mind
and in your
Written 11 August 2018
Rafael Torres Sep 2018
I've named this,
For who knows the contents could be,
Reminded I am,
Of gravestones left unmarked,
Once were,
But today not a name to be seen...
When I gaze upon these,
I still send my respects,
I have not a clue,
As to resting is who,
Send love from my chest,
Move to the next,
Nothing is more I could do...
I guess for a second,
All I can rekon,
Is to imagine the being below,
Of their life's journey,
Those they've effected,
I only guess,
But never could know...
I hope they have felt,
My intents of respects,
And know they are not forgotten,
In fact I do say,
Right here today,
I do not even know my own place,
In this here world,
For which we are thrown,
My meaning,
Still yet,
So I visit as a friend,
A simple kind gesture,
A gift of my salutations,
You lay there,
As I stand afoot,
A quick connection of Nations...
I do hope it was felt,
That I so alone,
Considered a guest,
Of your home...
The Cemetery.
Written 08/04/2018. 11:08PM. Speaking on the graves I visit, which I see have been vandalised, defiled, defaced, or damaged...
Simone13 Aug 2018
down the Valley
where the river flows
flocks of graves
swarmed with crows

ashes to ashes
turn dust to dust
where their metals lei
and turned to rust

stenches of blood
screams and decay
where wasted sheds
are left astray

down the Valley
where the river flows
are plumps of graves
where flowers grow
Jennifer Aug 2018
i see you, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
pointed ears, alert - afraid?
can you hear me breathing?

i know, grave burrower,
i know where you hide.
you hide under cracked stones
where decaying bodies lie.
i see your nose twitch, grave burrower,
can you smell the death?

your garden is bountiful, grave burrower,
it’s a beauty to behold.
how did you get it so beautiful -
are their roots cradled by bones?

i wonder if you see them, grave burrower,
smell them, feel them;
the spirits of the buried.
do you know something about death
that we don’t?

i know you see me, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
your wide eyes see in every direction.
can you see me staring?
Next page