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unknown help-need help with title
| Open Poetry #46 |
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unknown help-need help with title |
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januarybaby New Member
since 2010-03-11
Posts 1 |
I step carefully on the gravel path, trying to make my way quietly not to disturb anyone. I smile to myself. I am alone. Nevertheless, I try to step softly, because I realize there are hundreds of people that surround me, watching in silence. There are places I tend to be silent instinctively .once I cross the threshold: libraries, art galleries, cemeteries. Perhaps it is because they are the mortal remnants of people the only thing left, vainly trying to live in the dead man's home. In respect, I fall silent and try to listen to these voices from the dust. The dusty stones mouthed words from the dead the same words for generations. This mouth is beginning to close, never to speak again, battered into eternal silence by rain, moss and vandals They speak in one massive stone chorus in the center of the cemetery and sing with bells and see with stained glass eyes. The parish church has been standing, Its squatty square tower straining towards heaven, for many years. I lean against its cold stone. I wonder what this small plot of land knows Softly, I begin to hear music from above. I crane my neck back as it increases in volume. From the open window, I realize that it’s someone's weekly organ practice. I stand and listen to those complicated unfamiliar hymns for a long while, the sole living member of an audience of thousands. The leaves cover the broken stones. The bees renew the blossoms their roots replace the bones The mountains’ shadow fills it with cool air. .The lonesome withered shadow comes here in the night, to call upon the angels’ grace and soothe the nameless fright. A ghost imprisoned in the body, Loveless and alone. He brings his trusted shovel and digs to save his face. Convinced he is abandoned as fear is all he’s known. Six feet deep, two feet wide, sanctimonious space. He wants his soul to rest here, where strangers from his past soon come lay down by his side and bond with him at last. He wants the world to end here, for God to set him free. If only he could of lived his life as full as life. Their bodies have gone to dust their nothing but a name to me and you. These hearts of these people were woven of human joys and cares; Washed with sorrow, the years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs, the sunset, the colors of the earth. These had seen movement, and heard music; known slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended; Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone; Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended. i wrote it for my class for compositon let me know if you like it |
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| © Copyright 2010 januarybaby - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
Welcome, januarybaby, to Pip! Your thoughts about this silent numerous audience are intriguing and well expressed. I am sure you will be praised for this work. Love, Margherita |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
The only name I might place on this is "Where the Silent Speak". Very melancholy, tragic...let us know your marks on this...I think your instructor will see your vision, and know your depth of compassion. Welcome to Passions! Please check your email for a Very Special Greeting! |
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Earl Brinkman Senior Member
since 2010-03-03
Posts 1183Osaka, Japan |
Welcome to this site. I am new here also trying to find my way around. Your work is quite rich and full of detail. It is deserving of a good grade. You asked for a title - How about these - `Closing Address` or `Can You Hear the Voices?` I hope that helps. Good luck. |
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