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Yemaya May 20
blue bells for eyes
her name was a song
that made the graveyard hum
for the dead became flushed
her beauty reminding them of life
cleann98 May 18
there's just something about
the stillness of these stones
that sings me to tears—
     today is august 5, 2026...
     today is august 5, 2026...

so screams the years of
layers of dust encrusting
the petrified earth; lonely,
rid of her supple footsteps
to graze and wipe it clean.

like the stagnant roots
that seem to have given up
creeping to grasp for any
foot to cling to or touch
i can only stay so still...
     knowing oh so well
     everything we touch
     turns only to soil.

i could act myself a fool
greeting barren outcroppings
only to the reply of my own voice
hoping that the once green grass
would once again bloom
to the bliss of my welcome—
     but i'd rather settle for silence...

instead of crackling leaves;
stepping, all i heard were
my shoes against pavements,
failing to muffle the cries
from underneath my feet.

*someday, somehow
i will make it so
these lands will know
soft rains once more—
something i wrote before my life just started shutting down~~ partially inspired by he short story 'there will come soft rains' by ray bradbury (hence the august 5, 2026 thing) and mostly just from he rush of feelings i had imagining how my now abandoned childhood home (where the ashes of my mom, dad, grandpa, and grandma are) back in the province looks like when i would eventually return there...

this poem means a lot more now after visiting there last month for the first time in two years since the pandemic began and yeah ._.
Yemaya Apr 2
A soul's vacant shell,
under newly upturned soil.
N Dec 2021
you should have kissed me
before my lips started to bleed

You should have teared me apart
before my flesh turned into
a graveyard of longings, for you

But I promise you this:
No one shall touch me
after you, not even I

My aching body,
my worn out mouth,
my fever-burned eyes,
my hungry heart,
and the rest of me
is yours for a lifetime

Though these words
strangle me to write,
you do not long for
me as you once did

I do not know who else to be
if not your lover all-night long—
Alicia Moore Oct 2021
The tedious graveyard shift comes around again,
The ghosts and ghouls of my past clocking in.
We meet each other at the silver gate;
We greet each other with the same stare each night.
I wonder if some will stay overtime with me under this moon,
Or if we can led our own paths once more come morning.
the old truck
I'm guessing from the 60's
now being devoured by trees
at the edge of this farm
melting into the hundreds of acres
a remnant
I took the back roads this time
on my latest sanity saving trip
to the Outer Banks
Where I'll pick through the
fragmented shells
looking for the few that made
the journey in one piece
like the scavenged souls we meet
I took some pictures where the
lighthouse peeks over the dunes
and spotted something in photo
after photo
an orb appears in each
and changes position with
every click of the camera
perhaps a soul
victim of a ship gone down
from one century or another
stepped out from his grave
the Atlantic
to enjoy a stroll along the beach
Outer's shores known as the graveyard of the Atlantic
dorian green Jul 2021
full moon, nervous edge, sweat beads,
my lungs are bruised and beaten,
and my heart is made of bone.
why, pomegranates bleed,
sigh and remain uneaten,
calcify or rot alone.

i saw persephone cry
and all the angels alight,
stark and sad in burning flame.
a soft weeping right nearby,
holy fires of the night,
and i swear i heard my name.

possession requires a host,
but i couldn't catch my breath
stumbling through the graveyard.
i don't believe in ghosts,
but the awesome fear of death
caught me lonely and off guard.

i will try to describe it:
in the face of this feeling,
your guts are on the table,
your insides exposed, moonlit,
mine were cold and revealing,
dead, skeletal, and mangled.
Ileana Amara Jun 2021
i know my grief was born
when i stood before a thousand deaths
of who the people i loved used to be;

i made a home to tuck myself in
within the depths of their souls,
i have memorized the corners of their being;
their stories, their scars, and their dreams.

now all that i have known and loved
lay peacefully under the caskets
in the graveyard of who we used to be,
almost like a shedded skin most prefer to forget.

i walked in this graveyard for months—
weeping in the flowers i leave before them,
until a slender hand laid on my shoulder,
"it's about time." she said softly.

"leave me flowers before you go." i replied.

06.24.21. | i had no good grief to write about for the past few months; all i felt was both peace & chaos in the in-betweens of my mundane life. i like this piece of mine so far, i hope you do too. :)
VanillinVillain Apr 2021
as amongst these stones
     on mossy tread
I wander rounds
     throughout my head,
I whisper soft,
the names of carved
     and aged glory,
in hopes one day
     far down the line
someone may
     treat me in kind.
cemeteries are my jam, man
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