In The Graveyard

Chimera Poetry

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…

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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. 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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