9:21pm September 26, 2014

Visiting Your Grave

I may never see your grave in person
But I will be there every day
That’s a promise I can keep
Every night before I sleep
As I travel to the place where you’ll lay

I will be the rain that falls on your grave
I will be the wind in the trees in the graveyard
I will be the soil that grows the plants
I will be the plants that grow from you
I will be the sky that shelters the earth
I will be the earth lying under the sky
I will be the sun shining down on the trees
I will be the trees growing over the graves
I will be the needles and leaves that fall from the trees
And carpet the ground where you lay

So don’t fear that I will never visit
I will be with you every day
I’ll be the rain and the wind
And the sun and the stars
And the earth made into clay
I will see you from above
I will see you from below
I will see you from without
I will see you from within
And if you want my flowers
Just look for the weeds
Growing at the base of your grave

The graveyard in the woods.

The graveyard in the woods.

The graveyard in the woods.

[Also posted at my main poetry blog. The post on the other blog has pictures of the graveyard in question, where my dad has already picked out his grave site and his plain pine coffin. This is not the poem I’ve been working on writing, it just came out rather quickly on its own, almost too fast to write down.]

Reblogged with the pictures of the graveyard added in. My father replied on my other blog, “When I picked out the exact location of my grave, I sat in a folding chair where the grave will be. when I looked up at the treetops and the sky, beyond, I thought, “This is good.” When I started to get up to leave, I found the task very difficult. Not because it was physically hard, but because the spot was so beautiful.”