Speaking to a headstone
To a child beneath the ground.
My friends have come to call me mad
But here, there is no sound.
So many times I've come here,
Remembering those days.
We spent them laughing long ago.
You took them to your grave.
It gives me little comfort
To say my small hello,
For I know you can't hear me.
That you're gone under the snow.
I always will remember
The peace I found in you.
When I gazed upon your sweet face
I forgot the pain I knew.
I miss your laugh in silence,
I wish to hear you sing,
I miss your growing stages
Never knowing what they'd bring.
Every heart has some great task
For shoes no one can fill.
In mine it's to replace you
And nobody ever will.
About the Creator
Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist
I fell in love with speculative fiction and poetry many years ago, but I have precious little time to write any. Then, I went crazy and started a cult called metAlchemy, or meta alchemy. I revere energy of all brands, esp. good, kind chaos.
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More stories from Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Dart at Dusk
Seconds ago, the sullen sun set on the two of us… my exuberant furry companion and me. A fresh breeze embraces us, delivering welcome relief from the day’s oppressive heat. His typical stumbling and staggering along — apace with a sloth — has turned into trip-trapping, high-stepping, almost skipping along.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶3 days ago in Petlife
Comments (2)
It’s hard to praise hard truths but this is a dose of reality that I have endured with the loss of my 20 yrs old son in 2018. You have captured the truth in an excellent and compelling way.
Heartbreaking😔