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The Garden or the Grave?

Updated on March 12, 2013

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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    • The Suburban Poet profile image

      Mark Lecuona 4 years ago from Austin, Texas

      There's no pride in treating someone poorly or using them.... maybe as a young man I didn't care; now, I know it's not right... as for the grave, hopefully I can carry what I need to know without having to walk into a cemetary to remind myself of what is important between people.

    • profile image

      JanikaLeeReyes 4 years ago

      The pleasure is indeed all mine. It isn't but hey, at the very least you feel regret and not shame. You didnt visit her grave for a hubris reason, its comforting. Its never too late to say you're sorry. Never. :)

    • The Suburban Poet profile image

      Mark Lecuona 4 years ago from Austin, Texas

      Hi Nika,

      Thank you for what you said and your fan mail. I remember you very well and I'm glad you came back to read some of my work. Meeting a man like that doesn't sound like a very good bargain for a woman. It makes you suffer needlessly. There is really no explanation for it. Looking at someone's grave can make you confront yourself and understand how you hurt others. And what it is meant by the words, "it's too late to say your sorry."

    • profile image

      JanikaLeeReyes 4 years ago

      Wow, this is just beautiful. A play with words. This really brought tears to my eyes. Dark and Lovely. I've met a man like you. Once. This is nice. Thank you for this.

      With love,