The Strangest thought- unnecessary words spoken from the village grave


Of what was blackest:

the hair, the eyes, the garments and all

he falls and catches

breaks and runs

and, finally,

lies upon the grass.

“oh how I wish I were the grass he laid upon”

spoke the village grave

“I wished he kissed the earth

when he came back from battle”

spoke the village grave,

“I wished I were the smile that played upon his lips,

beneath that black sky and the perfect ebony tides”

spoke the village grave,

“I’d be the blanket warm he kept,

that when upon the rising

gets discarded on the bed,  he is saying:

too close, too close-

cry in the tomb when all the  people are sleeping

adventure plagues my mind the most”

Sopke the village grave, nodding at the truth of it

prodding at the root of it

and wont to budge, trying fervently

to break the soil of it’s long  dawn.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


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