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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2201048
A ritual that helps the ongoing grief.
High on the mountain, up above town,
My mother and brothers laid down,
I feel the emptiness standing alone.
I bend down to brush the grass from the stone.

Holes in my heart that they once filled
Ache with a coldness on this old hill.
I place the flowers carefully chosen,
The tears I might shed in my eyes are frozen.

We'll be together again some day,
Life's heavy sorrows we'll put away.
We won't recall our suffering or pain,
Surrounded by glory, Heaven our gain.

They're still present in all of my life,
They who've escaped earth's constant strife.
With flowers I've put my burden down,
High on the mountain, up above town.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2201048