Remains

several weeks have passed
since my soles last walked on moss clad
paths of this old graveyard
littered with pine cones
fallen from neck stretching conifers
yet so strangely alive with
silent ghosts of the once
living

grass grows shoulder high
hides broken headstones
with bleached sun dried presence
oppressive in july heat
smoulders in late afternoon

the inevitable creeping
of nature
as she reclaims what was
once hers

all that remains
of that red kite downed in flight
are feathers strewn
across the dirt floor
a testament to former glory
and freedom of the open skies

all living things pass
in time we are a mote of dust
a pin prick in an ocean sky
soon to be forgotten
soon to be replaced
eventually
erased without trace

Reviews

[Lorry]

We are only remembered for as long as the last person knows us lives Chris, just like you prolonged the red kites memory with your words.
Or perhaps if we are lucky passing stranger will readout name from crumbling gravestone as theypass our final resting place.
Maybe even a lone red feather will land on our grave in memory of the woman who remembered the red kite!

[Chris Shaw]

What lovely thoughts you share here Lorry. Thank you so much for stopping by. Hope your Sunday has been peaceful and joyful.

Chris