Gate
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Poetry/Verse/Gate
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1557-092-22
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written June 22, 2023
Submitted to the Standard Contest, Any Poem
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 06/23/2023
First Place
The gate to the old cemetery is rusty and old,
though once upon a time is was elegant and gilded;
ornate with filigree tracery ornamentation,
now, it is decaying, fragile, yet still beautiful to me.
I push to open it and the gate creaks, groans, moans;
and sighs an objection.
Stepping into the cemetery is like entering tranquility,
the green wraps around me like a warm cloak;
the majestic old trees are like a protecting canopy,
I am awed by all the hues of green I behold.
The birds are non stop, oh how divine are their songs;
many headstones are in ruin.
I begin to walk a worn path looking at the stones,
unable to read the inscriptions, I find that so sad;
yet, still some have flowers either planted or bought,
oh such a peaceful place it makes me want to weep.
I hope my resting place can be like this old cemetery;
full of green peace.
Then, I retrace my steps until I stand at the gate,
pushing to open it creaks and moans again;
and did I hear voices whispering, impossible I think,
I turn expecting to see someone standing there.
Pushing the gate, I hear the whispers, is it possible;
or is it impossible.
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2023
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