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Final Resting Place

Poetry By: Mistress of Word Play

A visit to the cemetery can make you think some really odd things.....

Submitted:Nov 7, 2009    Reads: 466    Comments: 21    Likes: 30   


The feel of green moss which grows.

beneath those leather covered toes.

The smell of peonies assaults the nose

here where a gentler breeze blows.

Spanish moss and the scent of mums

a sound of a fife and those drums.

Bodies reduced to ash and crumbs

eerie silence which your brain numbs.

Towering stone angels and rocks

occasionally a tomb of fancy blocks.

Those seraphim that time mocks

no need for food, shelter, or clocks.

The fence of stone or iron around

by these barriers the captives bound.

Nary a whisper or even one sound

life disintegrates beneath this ground.

Here where the endless teardrops trickle

are those taken by Death Angel's sickle.


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