Memorial Gardening

And this is part two of yesterday's poem; remembrance of them in death. It is a painful subject, but again with bitter-sweet and tender memories of a life that should have been longer. I tried to keep match the sense of loss, of the potential of this life, The carnage of nations surrounded my soul but I/ I am released with the individual himself, this unique and mad, eccentric and wonderful, tragic and comic soul we all lost too early.

To D.C.
Memorial Gardening

Revisiting the scene, it struck me at once-
how divine it all was;
how the angels of god were at play.
And I counted the stars from the plateau of steel
while the campfires grew dim in the day.

The carnage of nations surrounded my soul
but I, I am released.
I feast on the bones of a banquet grown cold
They’ll never grow old, the deceased.

Ah, I have the secret of dying for love
and I care not for dying of hate.
If this dance were to cease, I would cry out in rage-
as I carry the secrets of state.

I long ago realized how it began-
the man who was cheated made money
the money become the compost of souls
the holy flocked like the flies do to honey.

Ah! I cannot be burdened by Musings and dreams
Away with the shades of the battle-scarred dead
These contours of concrete are swaying like flags
The graves stones are huddled like sheep in a storm
And poppies are clouding my head.

1.