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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1280632
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Death · #1280632
My first poem, thought of after visiting a cemetery in December. Full descrip. in profile
Walk across the gravel
To a place less traveled,
That’s where you’ll find me
Where not many like to be.
Through the freshly fallen snow
The sun’s reflection makes your eyes aglow,
Among the tall frozen stones
With flowers left by those who atone.

The past is never far behind
One day you’ll be in that line,
For eternity you’ll wait
For someone familiar to pass through that gate.
To prove you are not forgotten
In a place comfort is sought-in.

Frozen tears come to the eyes
Of those before them as they lie,
Unable to finish what they started
In the world they have since departed.
It is up to those who visit them
To make them smile once again,
Before they are joined in their grave
By both the coward and the brave.

The past is never far behind
One day you’ll be in that line,
For eternity you’ll wait
For someone familiar to pass through that gate.
To prove you’re not forgotten
In a place comfort is sought-in.

Don’t think of me as sad
Lying here in my wooden pad,
One day you’ll be here
Departed from all your worldly fears.
So go back through that gate
We wouldn’t want you to be late,
To spend the time that you’ve got left
Before you take that one. . . last. . . breath. . .
© Copyright 2007 mdnghtdrgnfly (mdnghtdrgnfly at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1280632