I am held captive by what I won’t say,
What I won’t remember,
What I won’t accept.
The way out is a pilgrimage;
Back through places I do not want to go.
Through a cemetery of the past
Where the graves are half dug,
The caskets are open
And nothing is laid to rest.
If I take a bouquet of Lillie’s
And pay the past my respects,
Will I spend too much time repenting,
For I am glad they are dead
Frozen in a permanent state of grief
If I stay trapped though,
Will I soon find my life becomes a coffin,
Flanked by all that put me there
And haunted by their untested souls.
this one caught me. you might say it haunts the reader…
In this poem, the 2nd stanza gives the answer to
your release.
“The way out is a pilgrimage;
Back through places I do not want to go.
Through a cemetery of the past…”
Nice, liked the cemetery comparison where nothing is really laid to rest.