A beautiful stone lays there, a soul buried beneath. The upturn causes the soul to escape, into an eternal restless ache. A world of skeletons in their ground. Novels on the surfaces, carved with perfection and cleansed with love.
All in line, the stones are listening. Speak to the stones of pain, the remnants of memories. These graves listen to your torment, tell them all your stories. The souls are listening, they ache to be with you again. They are looking over me, as I read every stone severally.
The upturn is perturbational, a contrast in grievous poetry. It's a neglected stone in a party of grief. The escape is punishing, the soul sees as I look over at it. I stare with sorrowing thoughts and I contemplate whether the soul could rest again.
The regret is compiling in me as I ache to place the stone upright. I wished to let the soul lay amongst all the blackest bones. The ache in my bones caused me to walk away and think alone, because who would take care of the soul after it's eternally gone?
© Sincerely, ♡ - June 2023
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My Guts Create A Tapestry - Poetry
PoetryThis poetry is strictly copyright, it's all written by me. These poems tend to be written sweetly so you could be reading the most gorey poem and it'd be like it's romantacised. I don't try to romantacise them, it's the way I write. You'll possibly...
