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Grave

02 Jan

Your face is on a plaque.
Never were you in a place so long
as on that silent hill
while thunderstorms are gathering
above my troubled head
no one can stop my thoughts from gandering
about you, my pretty lad
my heart beats for you and tries to find
another rhythm to make a duet
it has to find a melody, unsang
to mend the broken heart

Two pots of ash behind that plaque
which hold the remains of you
the you that was body, mind and soul
now only has dust of body.
You were never alone and even now in death
you have been split up into two
for someone who got married
and someone living by a shore

By hearing nature speak its roar
I realise all the more
you were never mine
it will all be fine
and I should have been less of a bore

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Posted by on January 2, 2017 in Poems

 

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