Her Wish Eternal

I slowly open the old, rusty cemetery gate that groans, it squeaks and creaks in the still night, the trees are swaying dark shadows, reaching out for me- I walk a path strewn with fallen leaves, they crunch beneath my feet echoing. A sudden wind takes my long raven hair, it whirls around me like a dark velvet, warm cloak. The headstones go on for miles in rows and rows, names engraved, cut into cold stone, voices of those gone whisper softly, but I journey on. I seek a stone that bears my name. Statues of angels turn and weep, their tears wash me like gentle falling rain, in the distance a mound of red roses already decaying. This my resting place- I should be dwelling in peace. I lived a short life and died young, and in death I am beautiful, but I linger still. I was a poet. I seek the poems, I wrote my words in blood, in journals my many poems still exist, words written that should have been buried with me. it was my wish . . . ________________________ Writer's Statement: The first thing you will notice about my poetry is that I like to write my stanza's anisometric, that is, composed of unequal lengths. I also like automatic writing without conscious control. I have the ability to put myself into the poem, I am right there with the words as I am creating. My poems tend to dwell on the sadder and more morbid aspects of life. As the early romantic poets like to do in their poetry, I also like to write in the school of drowned-in-tears style. Often my poetry is mournful and takes the reader to a cemetery, a graveyard. So, I am also writing in the style of the 18th century poets whose melancholy words dwelled in darkness. This is known as the school of graveyard poetry. In this poem, I am the ghost of a girl, a poet, who died young. She cannot rest in peace because her poetry is lost to her in death. It was suppose to be buried with her but was not. So now she will spend eternity searching for her poems that dwells in the realm of the living. __________________________ January 14, 2017