In The Graveyard

Respect ghosts and gods, but keep away from them. ~ Confucius

I stood in the graveyard and let the soil pour through my hands
and I felt naked 
with only my grief wrapped around me
hiding nothing
and the birds called overhead and in my madness
in my need 
I imagined they were cursing the ground I stood two footed upon
while I cursed them for being able to fly 
and for a heart that beat too fast to feel itself breaking
and I wondered how hard I needed to listen to hear you sighing away from this place
and if the last sight of me stayed on surface of your eye lingering like a too bright flashbulb
and if I pushed your eyelid up would I see myself
and does the dirt remember the bones that collapse into it 
and do they merge together
or is it like small ramshackle buildings crowding together
tumbling against each other 
and I remember the last time I saw you not dying
and you laughed at something on TV and drank tea and there was no moment of clarity 
no clap of thunder
no warning bell to tell me that this was it
this was that moment
the one I needed to have caught and kept in a silver box
with the dried flowers withering upon it
and the birds still curse and I leave the sad space
this mourning in rectangles
 with all the stones poking up to mark where the ghosts begin
and I wonder if they see me walking away and try to follow
or if they want to stay…
©jayetomas2014

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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8 Responses to In The Graveyard

  1. risinghawk says:

    Fantastic.

  2. risinghawk says:

    Reblogged this on The Fires Inside and commented:
    Chimera always amazes me – this one is no exception. Just had to share it! Check out her blog 🙂

  3. Heartafire says:

    Must agree with Hawk, love this.

  4. Phoenix Rainez says:

    Sad, tearful and beautiful. A heart wrenching story of laying a loved one to rest in peace.

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