A gloomy morning walk,
8am without sunrise
and I find myself in a graveyard
paying respects to strangers;
thankful there is no one here
I knew or loved.
Those graveyards are elsewhere
and lack paths to line the headstones.
In some places it is overgrown
and uneven – an endless reminder
the dead rest beneath you
with secrets you hope they will never tell;
they are my teeth and tongue.
Not every grave is left
unchartered.
The flattened grass reveals
the tombs I return to;
my still beating heart,
my recurring dreams
and memories of every boy
and every man I’ve loved
or worshipped or despised so much
I called it love.
These tombs are the tidiest
but adorned with dead flowers
I never change, just adjust
or add to; week old blooms
I left to die on my windowsill.
And the church beside them
is made of bone, my bones.
A skeleton rattling with ghosts
and prayers uttered on the lips
of my mind, wishes and hopes.
© Kristiana Reed 2018
Reblogged this on FREE VERSE REVOLUTION.
LikeLike
YES GIRL! This is awesome!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you ☺️
LikeLike
a very good expression of slice of life so important remorseful but not far from reality.
Great one. Congrats.
do read my poems/posts if you wish to.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you
LikeLike
you are welcome always
LikeLiked by 1 person