The Old Cemetery
The Old Cemetery
Once I went walking,
in an old cemetery.
Where my footsteps,
echoed on the hallowed ground.
Where it seemed there was a presence
and I had to be respect the ones –
who wandered here unseen.
I heard a chorus,
it must have been the angels,
singing somewhere from the heavens.
The writers and the poets,
whose gravestones I passed,
where now up in the sky above,
dancing with their muses.
Composers were still composing,
heavenly concertos,
dreamers were now dreaming,
along the Milky Way.
It was silent and still
and crows cawed and circled overhead.
Even the night owls,
quietly hooted,
wondering who dared disturb,
the peace of this old cemetery.
It was here that I came to be inspired,
came to commune with muses,
with old masters,
to fill my soul with emotions,
that later would become poetry.
Trees whispered in the breeze
and I could feel the spirits,
who roamed alone and sad.
They seemed to quietly whisper
“This is our world”
“It is not for the living”
I wondered why they had chosen to stay,
here roaming in this old cemetery –
as lovely as it was.
Perhaps lonely lovers,
waiting for their true loves,
to come to lay flowers,
till they could meet,
in the world beyond one day.
I sat upon a wrought iron bench
and looked at the moon above,
dark shadows swirled about,
I was transported to a mystical world.
So silent so still,
where nature was undisturbed
and the living didn’t trouble –
those who called this home.
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I love this poem, Rasma. I like to wander and sit a spell in old cemeteries and your poem gives an image of peace and quiet. Well done on this great piece.
Thank you Phyllis.
Some great imagery and wouldn’t it be nice to be with the old masters, to rub shoulders with those who came before us. Great work Rasma.
Thank you Tony.