As Silent as the Grave

These days I have no more room for somber poems written under sunsets or love poems illuminated under star lights, all the shine has left in the form of mahogany coffins dropping into soft Texas earth that's been stirred by the bodies of now unfamiliar faces only captured in Facebook and instagram pictures. Windows into the past both reveal and steal my joy like a therapist diagnosing the depression I didn't know I had. The love I had has now passed, now here I am. Sunless and depressed.

Standing over your grave wanting the wound to heal but constantly poking at it so I don’t forget the pain so, I don’t forget your face. I look down at the ground I begin to hear pounding.

I place my ear to the earth praying my mind is playing tricks on me, but I continue to hear beating,

Not sure if it’s the knocking on coffin lids or my heart but I start digging.

No shovel just my hands clawing through the dirt, every clump a bittersweet memory, every foot I go deeper I weep praying my archeological find could locate the dreams I buried with you. As I stand here on your mahogany box I remember a wise man once told me “The graveyard is the richest place on earth, because it is here that you will find all the hopes and dreams that were never fulfilled.”

I reach down and open your casket and there you were lying as silent as the grave, still holding my dreams.