Poem for Day 322 – 20151119
I walk down the garden path,
ancient avenue of solitude.
Marble markers stand sentry still,
comfort cold in the interlude.
The arbor's bounty saddens the heart,
beds of roses with thorns outward,
circle round the focal points,
stony statements of lives now gone.
Everyone must walk this way,
consider the mortal frame,
but for me there is an added thing,
the wind carries voices to my ears.
I'd turn away as a saner man,
but then the voices do insist
from the weeds and high trees
asking listen to their cold words.
Rest your bones call the wraiths
the more the merrier they all say
You'll find peace for your remains
the world removed from your way.
There is a place reserved for you,
waiting for you to step through.
Be not afraid for the pain,
it will be over in a blink.
The patch of dirt looks heaven sent,
until I remember the circle wide
of those I know and other ones
that consider me part of their world.
There is no salvation in the weeds,
the connections will have their way.
Living chosen over icy comfort,
so I walk away from the garden path.
© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.