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Autmn T May 2018
Goodbye. A word that haunts. Echos through the dark and paralyzes me with fear, enough to tremble and shake similar to the way a weak hand grasps for months, clutching onto life. When you leave, how do you suppose you hear me. I shout and scream into the cemetery of everything that once was. The lesson of a lifetime is say goodbye early. Say goodbye to the possibility of departure and leave before they leave first. Thats how you say goodbye to a ghost, in a way that will haunt them to their grave.
Written while wanting to reach out to someone who wants to hide.
K Balachandran May 2018
tombstone lost the name,
wildly growing grass has the gain;
nature stakes more claim!
Rajinder Apr 2018
Dark designs
dancing skulls
cover her apron,
a talisman
warding evil eyes.

Queen Meek-teka-see
rules over bones, on
Day of the Dead.

During day
swallowing stars,
at night gulping
nectar of rising sun
she spews spirits
possessed by her.

Calaveras eteched
over tombstones,
frozen candle flames,
capture souls
under black moon.

The living crawl
to her altar
offering
another skull
to the dark blue apron.
Sam Mar 2018
We danced among the tombstones
Verdant ground to kiss our feet
Her hand as cold as winter
My smile from beyond
Guden Nov 2017
There's a rock
In the ocean
Which I envy,
It's like a tombstone.
A rock that's not always covered
By the Pacific ocean,
It plays with the motion
Of the waves,
Holding its breath
When the water comes,
Like a child going through a tunnel.
Life grows on the rock,
Kelp that help
Holding to the smallest cracks,
Like a bumblebee
Trapped in a web
Heating up in the sun.
Branden Youngs Sep 2017
Here's a poem you can call your own.
Let it wrap itself around your neck till you turn cold.
A toast to the paragraphs of your emotional distress.
These words will stitch your insecurities into a seductive dress.

Here’s a poem you can call your own.
A haunting of memories for when you’re alone.
A guide
for the ghosts who don’t have a home.
Lost and lonely
wishing they had a tombstone.
When my time passes
And there’s no breath left in me,
Take my ashes to the oceans
And set my spirit free.
There I can rejoin my friends
There I will not be alone.
There I can make my amends
There I won’t be unknown.

Far too much blood spilled onto this planet
Makes its way to the sea.
The raining of blood by droplet
Rejoining there finally.

Don’t leave me in the cold, cold ground.
No – No imprisoned tomb for me.
Let the waves be my stone bound
An anxious tide, my cemetery.

There I can float on endless waves
A moving monument to see.
And if you leave a tear on my grave
I can float it away with me…
I have never understood the fascination with burials. At some point we need to grow up and realize why burying a person ever started. Think about it. The answer is staring you right between your eyes. Still don't know? What is between your eyes? Urggg. Your nose silly...
Àŧùl May 2017
"Q: What do you want to be written on your tombstone?
A: 'Here was cremated Atul Kaushal, a free spirit', because I want to break free from the circle of life & death and live with my love in that place beyond space & time far from rebirth cycle."
It was in an author interview that I had said it.
Back in 2014 this happened.
My HP Poem #1557
©Atul Kaushal
dth Apr 2017
Missed I wasn't,
teardrops on my tombstone no longer;

Only a bunch of dandelions,
caressing the cold parchment
when nobody was around;

Blown by the wind,
left alone though it hasn't sinned;

Slowly withering to die,
consumed by cruel, cruel world
the same way as
I was.
My body ran cold and nobody to hold.
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