Taphophile
I admire the stone.
I love the layers of grieving moss.
Tracing the names history forgot.
The hum of Death settles in the air
I saunter holding my precious heartbeat,
In awe of what is no longer here.
Epitaphs are stories
Rows upon rows of histories
Listening to the echoes of lingering grief.
Aware of the decay nobody can see.
The wind sighs on granite wings,
Angels mourn yet still they sing.
My feet are one with the dirt,
From dawn til dusk ghosts slumber so,
Shadows dancing towards the sky,
Enjoying downtime here on Earth.
I am a taphophile, in love with decay.
Every breath brings me closer to my grave.
A taphophile who lingers in the hush,
Tears embedded in the grass so lush.
Reflecting heavily with resting bones,
This place is truly a second home.
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