Children Don’t Belong in Graveyards

I’m clutching childhood in my
Hands, wrinkled and damp
From a flood of tears, all these
Years wrapped in silk and buried
four feet under the ground, a burial
mound and I hear pounding of compact
soil as the littler me pleads for air, its
not fair, she screams, my ears bleed,
I can’t see her anymore, she is dead.

Frenzied motion, flying earth, fingernails
Full of regret and dirt, I hold childhood in
my arms, She is pale faced and unaged
no lungs, no heart and I am to blame,
come back, I whisper, come back and play
but graveyards don’t allow children’s toys,
choirboys sing in the chapel nearby, I shouldn’t
be here, but no, no goodbyes, wake up, I plead,
wake up for me, claws like a vice. Suffocatingly.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s