cemetaries
i love the solitude of cemeteries
it is where i feel most at home
no one to critique my dreams
or criticize me, it seems
no one
autumn is dark and gloomy
best time to visit the cemetery
cold, crisp and roomy
can you feel that
autumn is drastic and black
we have that in common, autumn and i
but still
i am young and beautiful here
for time has stopped
and my candles are unblown
but still
i am king among dead
for i have swapped
good memories for my own
i lie on the cemetery's floor
and listen to peace-ever heard it
it's not empty, never quiet or lonely
but periodically it smells like crying
and on that floor i sometimes
wish
that tree roots and antique arms
would reach up
pull me under
and drag me off home
home
over the bridge of bones
back to my glass house
and my closet of unthrown stones
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