deepundergroundpoetry.com

Weeds Grow Over My Friend's Grave

Long after our black departure,
consumed by earth,
despite dreams of an immortal memory,
we’ll all be forgotten.

She has a poetic journal in her keeping,
immortalizing her words.
An archive of Gothic poetry,
holding her inner most desires
of adventure, sex, love and expressionism.

Metaphors possessing such precision,
sorrows channel into a time capsule,
buried within her being.

A single page entry,
could make a novel
of a thousand pages
written in vanity.

Kept out of sight from anyone
who persists to view its delicate words.

This record’s the gold kept locked,
button by button, within her being.
There’s no possible combination
to this safe,

as it is with the heart;
mind of the body,
where flesh to bone, bottom to upper lip,
can be locked as a secret forever;
dying with the keeper.

As her body succumbs and decays,
the words whither in thin air
to pure non-existence.

Her words will live on as an entity
in a deathless tomb.
Written by gothicsurrealism (Daniel Long)
Published
Author's Note
I wrote this poem to be part of my novel manuscript and possibly reinvent it into a short story about a girl whose an outcast turns to poetry to find happiness and somewhere within the short story she dies, however her words go on immortally. The theme being: thou art mortal.
Please check out my dark poetry website: www.gothicsurrealism.com
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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