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See her walking
down packed aisles,
of grave stones etched with names
hardly readable
but hardly attainable either.
Where is she going?
See her walking
down the aisles,
atop a thousand bodies,
by cracked gravestones,
a thousand tears too shed weakens
the stones.
See her walking,
where is she going?
Hear her heart beat,
Hear bones crack underneath
weakened with age,
Hear the sobs break with each step.
Where is she going?
See her walking
through the field of broken hearts,
her mind is pierced with
thoughts of suicide.
She wonders
what it feels like to be dead
to feel nothing.
To see nothing.
To be everything.
See her walking,
down the last aisle,
see her pause
with anticipation
and watch it die out
with disappointment.
Where is she going?
See her walking,
across the highway
without a smile,
without a thought,
without a good-bye,
where is she going?
See her walking out of the field of broken
hearts,
without a look up.
See her pause.
See her pause.
See her smile.
See her look up.
It's the most beautiful sight.
Where is she going?
Out of the field of broken hearts,
and in again...
Walk across the field,
a smile strangled,
weakened with age,
a smile gone,
feel the tear fall free-fully.
Hear the bones crack,
hear the silent moaning,
walk atop a thousand and one bodies.
Where did she go?
 Deceased Poet · Fri Mar 27, 2009 @ 12:08am · 0 Comments |
