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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Child of the Cemetery In a large and beautiful antique cemetery lives a child A young girl, I saw a few times during lonely walks She just looked and looked at me, a stranger visitor She stood there, beside a grave, and silently watched me and watched. Snow-white face, sky-blue eyes, long blonde hair, long white dress. “I am the daughter of this cemetery.” She said it one time then she slowly turned around and walked into the deep of this so magnetic graveyard. She reached a huge crypt, disappeared, and became nothing. There is no door on the old mausoleum “She is our daughter, our daughter, our daughter…” I have just heard many, many other worthy voices from everywhere, from the deep, from the graves Now there was an unbelievingly cold silence, not even the leaves rustled. Hmm. Walk, walk, thinking, contemplating, meditating Can the dead have children? How? “Yes, it is possible.” A deep, friendly voice spoke. “Dead are lives, and their collective mind and will more powerful than that of mortal living people because the world of the dead is not limited by the disciplines of the physical word.” Said the voice Life here, life there On this side and the other side Live here, live there Where? I want to try the other side too So this life is the prelife for the afterlife Then where is the only life? “Up!” Said the Daughter of the Afterlife.
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