Some people go back to the garden I want to go back to the grave It’s all the same to me For the soil must be parted in order to be saved
I’m afraid of death Yet what is more peaceful than a moss covered cemetery? I’m more comfortable there than among the living For it is my choosing to decide who they were And as a name reveals itself to me I think of them as they were born And how they had no idea what was to become of them Were they born into poverty? Or wealth? Were they born into love? Or abuse? And as they lay In peace I wonder if God knew them
Listening to memories similar to your own requires no voice For though love was buried it lives on in others
I think about how they laid you to rest Who cried and what did they say? Were you a burden in the end? Were you a blessing all your life?
It’s ok You can tell me everything I’m here A stranger comforted by the words on a stone For the words “blessed mother” tell a story of sacrifice A story about a woman who gave And who cried
Did you wait for a thank you? Then take mine Did you wait for forgiveness? Then take mine Did you wait for understanding? Then take mine
I asked her if she ever knew a man like me One who could kiss with emotion But not fall in love? One who could want you But not try? She said nothing But I knew she carried it with her She was worth everything a man could summon But now it’s too late
I’ve never seen the grave of someone I loved Or even someone I knew well But I know who I see Because they are the same as me Did they know those who traded civility for greed? Were they a child being bullied at school? Were they worried about not being good enough?
The final goodbye is the beginning of remembrance And the story that was told is now an inspiration For as I stare at your silent white stone I feel your presence within my imagination
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