He wrote too much mean poetry

and now

people don’t stop by to pay their respects.

It’s quiet.

The lonely trees look like brains, with branches


trying to form connections

with the empty sky.

Tall grass has gone to seed

Fireflies buzz over tombstones

like lost souls, searching

for where their bodies were laid to rest.

They worked in the dirt, and their ideas will grow out of that

like trees

that last for centuries.

The full moon is a flashlight

until it burns out for good.

Frost creeps up on death

like a beautiful glaze

until the thaw

and the sun

open up the grave.

Words walk out of that

to wake us up


bring us back to life.

6 thoughts on “Poetry Graveyard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s