hello tombstone, kiss my Mother for me
tell her i never shed tears but emit celebratory smiles
ahhh, if only tombstones could talk
sometimes words are not there, but memories are,
but when that is not enough....so incomplete.....
hello ashkeeper, kiss my Mother for me
tell her that i never express fear but put on brave faces
ohhh, if only ashes had multiple facets
sometimes lies are minidevils allowed in for false therapy
but when that does not cut it....so unsatisfied....
hello cemetary, kiss my Mother for me
tell her i always value openness but tend to be closed frequently for renovations
aye, if only cemetaries could properly present
sometimes shields and shells are all i have for the comfort and safety of my self
but when that is no longer useful.....then what.....
dark cemetaries
someones end cast into stone
death left in the ground
They are along the edge of the woods,
in the meadow along the mighty river,
in a little crack in the drive way,
in orderly spaces in well groomed gardens.
They are in old, forgotten cemetaries,
in hedgerows along schools and shopping centers,
in ballfields, along ponds and ditches,
they popp up on cliffs, on top of windy hills,
in an old and abandoned flowerbox,
or almost empty clay pots.
They grace parking lots, the side of the highway,
they wind up mighty trees, fences and gates,
they thrive between the corn, wheat and barley,
they climb old barns, forgotten homesteads,
they spread out when left unattended,
to mark the spot a family once,
so many years ago, took pride in owning.
They are a prophet of seasons to come,
they are a splash of cheer and color,
they are visited by bees, bugs and butterflies,
they soothe us with their eternal scents,
and they always bring a smile to my face.