Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Grieving graves

6 feet beneath
The broken slates,
The souls roam
Naked and grieving.
Their monologues,
Sacred secrets,
Scattered by wind
Across this green glade
Speckled with
Headstones cloaked in
Grief.
Occasionally,
And funds permitting,
The manager arranges fresh flowers,
Oft forgotten with time.


4 comments:

  1. I'm meeting so many talented poets in this year's A to Z. In this poem, you created a vivid picture in my mind with so few words.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you so much Shonna for your kind words

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  2. Poignant and moving imagery.

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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.