Tag: Cemetery

Cemetery for Life’s Moments

Wilted flowers, empty alleys, pilgrim winds and grey tombstones
Holds the hidden cemetery for the melancholic soul.
‘Here lies Peace—the one I last felt on the 23rd of March.’
‘Here lies Laughter—died of fear when I cared what others thought.’

‘Here lies 21st of August—when I faced my fear of heights.’
Each tombstone carries a story which the mark of time’s survived.
‘2016: June, 2nd’ and ‘July, 12th’—engraved,
‘2012,’ ‘2011,’ ‘Greece,’ ‘Freedom,’ ‘When I was late.’

‘2017, Last summer’ and ‘That time when I was bold,’
‘2017: The sunset which gave hope to my lost soul.’
‘Airplane trails,’ ‘Confidence,’ ‘Family,’ ‘Falling stars in German fields,’
‘Travel,’ ‘Courage,’ ‘Summer sadness,’ ‘Erasmus,’ ‘Iulia,’ ‘Denise.’

‘Here lies August, 31st,’ and ‘Cycling on warm, summer nights,’
‘Crickets chirping on another night of freedom and delight.’
‘2019: June, 11th,’ ‘Self-reflection: August, 23rd,’
‘Camping,’ ‘Road trip,’ and ‘Depression,’ ‘Anthem of the souls who weep.’

‘7th grade,’ ‘Betrayal,’ ‘Sadness—when you saw that side of you,’
‘Guilt for not standing up for others,’ ‘Outsider,’ and ‘Friends I choose,’
‘Insecurity—mind, body,’ ‘Stretchmarks,’ and ‘Snow covering me,’
‘Caroling,’ ‘Togetherness,’ and ‘Self-empowerment,’ ‘Naivety.’

Memories kept there forever, buried in the living mind,
Far away or close to the present. All by whom the soul’s defined.
Numbers growing every moment, until only one remains:
A large tombstone for the person will have all others replaced.

– Patricia

Cemetery

Wilted flowers, empty alleys, pilgrim winds and grey tombstones
Holds the hidden cemetery for the melancholic soul.
Memories of passing moments are engraved on each tombstone
For the person who revisits, feeling evanescent, null.

He travels the world forgetting some of them, but he returns.
Every now and then, he visits and remembers who he was,
What he chose, what he experienced, all the people whom he met
And that’s when he stops. He feels like it all was yesterday. 

He looks at them with mixed feelings: happiness, sorrow, regret.
When did they all turn to cinder? Nostalgia. And something else.
Realising what they’re made of, he feels powerless. For they
Are all dust—just like his being. Might not see another day.

Crestfallen, he starts to ponder on his life and what he is.
In the silent cemetery, lonesome winds scatter dead leaves.
Cemetery for life’s moments—numbers growing every day,
Until only one large tombstone—with his name—will take their place.

– Patricia