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My graveyard

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.

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Published inEpicFriendLoveMainNatureOtherSorrow

3 Comments

  1. 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…”

  2. Nice, liked the cemetery comparison where nothing is really laid to rest.

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