Laid To Rest

Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you.

I dig through the dirt reminded of you.

Solitude has a way of planting doubts,

of shifting shadows in my field of view

until the attic caves within my house.

So much stillness, such desire to be heard,

words are a river on a silent tongue.

A poem, a promise, a blithe bluebird -

such are the leads of the innocent young.

 

We are the ashes of a burning fire,

but we were never what we might have been.

A contrivance, a dream, a myth and mire -

we will never be together again.

I bury my past in realms of the dead,

an emptiness deeper than any space,

placing chrysanthemums over each head,

over the smiles of each forgotten face.

 

I have a graveyard within my bones.

Half a heart hangs in a quarry of stars,

and memories gleam over broken stones

within this cemetery full of scars.

Sometimes the silence swallows whole the sky.

Storm clouds gather in the darkness depressed;

and sometimes, I hang my head and I cry

over unspoken things I laid to rest.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Stella Armour]

Unsaid words haunt you in your solitude, they become louder if you let them.
As time goes on i think maybe we dwell on these words and no amount of regret helps ...

[Soren]

A poignant melancholic piece of loss that can be felt to the core. Yet I like to think that my molecules and atoms will rejoin those of others that I have loved and that my thoughts and theirs are one and always will be. This temporal journey is short and I feel lucky to have met others that I loved and to have gotten to know them. Unsaid words are always present, with missed opportunities and these hurt the worst. Never the less I feel that I have done the best I could under the circumstances as did they and with this there are no regrets. Lovely piece with such a nice rhyme scheem and flow.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you so much, Soren. I'm grateful for the visit.