In dead cemeteries,
graves are unkempt,
no one left to tend
to the places where
the bodies are kept.
Wizened trees stretch out
as if reaching an arm around
anyone that passes through.
While yesterday's stories
lay still beneath the feet
of stone angels,
who silently weep.
The stone
has stood
for centuries.
Inscriptions,
faded dates,
names that
time erased.
All becoming part of
Times misplaced memories,
but still a flower is left,
just one flower and a note.
For eternity they said,
whispered words sent
in heartbeats
to the heavens above,
and in love and in death,
they always kept their promise,
to watch over each other
as they slept.
Tragedy came,
in the name of war.
Which war? No one is sure,
but another fight
that could have been solved
with talking, I'm sure.
As he closed
his eyes one last time,
he spoke her name aloud,
and then whispered
almost silently,
“For all time”
On some dark nights
you can see her,
a spectral figure passing by,
sitting mournfully at his side,
A letter and a rose,
just one flower and a note,
placed carefully,
scribbled with one solitary kiss.
Forever etched
into the substance of time.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
No comments:
Post a Comment