Place
The gentle, purring wind
Rustles the grasses of the shrine
That lies in the quiet place
That’s protected from ones own mind
Flowers grow anew
Birds sing in the tress
The graveyard whispers their pleas
The moaning ghosts of the past
Quiet their moans to watch the view
Of the burning setting sun
At night the grasses grow
The fireflies fly on the shrines
Snowy maidens dance on top of their own graves
To the sound of the murmur of the river
That mixes with the stars
For their silent, lovely raves
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
