Array ( [sid] => 185978 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => UNSPOKEN [time] => 2019-03-08 22:38:59 [hometext] => Our last words are seldom our own. [bodytext] => Gravestones tell stories written by friends; Seldom reflecting what we would intend.
One final marker with nothing to say; But vauge obscure platitudes chisled in grey.

It’s not death that haunts us; but silence we dread; The words in our hearts that will never be said!
What would we read on all those headstones If we sat down today and wrote words of our own?

Our graduate thesis, a final exam; Carved into stone by the blessed and the damned
Pray someone loves us before our last day. Lest we forever regret what they say.

“Dearly beloved”? Or merely “Here lies!” (So much for the loss of our lifelong disguise!)
Shall we have flowers, or weeds long forgot? Hearing the howls of the loved and loved not?

It’s only their welcome.. that rattling sound..
A chant from the dark and the cold of the ground:

With so little time from ashes to dust.
We love while we can.
And die when we must.
[comments] => 4 [counter] => 138 [topic] => 13 [informant] => softerware [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - UNSPOKEN


UNSPOKEN
Date: Friday, 8th March 2019 @ 10:38:59 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: softerware
Gravestones tell stories written by friends; Seldom reflecting what we would intend.
One final marker with nothing to say; But vauge obscure platitudes chisled in grey.

It’s not death that haunts us; but silence we dread; The words in our hearts that will never be said!
What would we read on all those headstones If we sat down today and wrote words of our own?

Our graduate thesis, a final exam; Carved into stone by the blessed and the damned
Pray someone loves us before our last day. Lest we forever regret what they say.

“Dearly beloved”? Or merely “Here lies!” (So much for the loss of our lifelong disguise!)
Shall we have flowers, or weeds long forgot? Hearing the howls of the loved and loved not?

It’s only their welcome.. that rattling sound..
A chant from the dark and the cold of the ground:

With so little time from ashes to dust.
We love while we can.
And die when we must.


This poem is Copyright © softerware


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