The Spirit’s Glade
Were I so lost to venture to
The spirit’s glade, where trees of yew
Hang low o’er long forgotten stones
That hide the dust of ancient bones,
What would I find among the graves
Of those doomed to remain unsaved?
Familiar busts loom in the gray,
Their ghosts unsure of wasted days
That once they squandered ‘neath the pale
Of summer skies, where lover’s tales
All turned to naught save rot and rust;
All lives lived fully turn to dust.
From nothingness they came, and tried
To be more than they were, then died.
For nothing matters, not until
We’re in the ground, cold, gray and still.
Dark blue, dark blue, the spirit’s pride
Is all that’s left. Look deep inside
Yourself to know all’s dead and rotten.
Alive, true, but already forgotten.
I await my turn, but unafraid
For when I’ll join the spirit’s glade.
Yes, I await with baited breath
For the truest peace I’ll know is death.
#death #grave, #graveyard, #suicidal ideation,
