go to the cemetary
by the privacy of which
you will find a trundle of papers
by the gravestone;
each of them
was an unsent letter
addressed to you.
You may find it strange
that I had no courage
to speak to you directly
after inking into the
endless paper void,
that i was afraid
somehow,
but
(I loved you).
please don’t forget
how i
walked
endlessly
with you
through the back
house acres
like we were
schoolchildren.
please don’t remember
the silent graveyard days
when i sat impenetrable
not speaking or sleeping.
please forgive the
sporadic bursts of
anger.
and even though
i was a terrible writer
i made you a story
even though
i was a terrible speaker
i told you i was waiting for you.
so go to the cemetary
and find the trundle of papers
by your gravestone;
each of them
was an unsent letter
addressed to you.
You may find it strange
that I had no courage
to speak to you in person
after inking into the
endless paper void,
that i was afraid
somehow,
but
I loved you,
and all i can see
are your smiling eyes
by my windowsille
when i try to look outside
to the world
that seems as dull
and senseless
as the rotting earth
Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry
ps. sorry if this reads more like prose than poetry!
Golden Star Poetry 