His grave
Lay in front
Of me and I stared
Into its depths,
Losing myself in
Some kind of aura
That surrounded,
Encasing me in
Warmth, instead of
The expected cold.
It was nothing special,
A replica of the
Many graves that
Littered the area with
Fated stories,
Lives lost and the
Constant taint of sadness
Surrounding such
A place.
Nestled amongst
The greater pillars
Of devotion, those
Able to afford
The ultimate
Commemoration
Lay a simple grave
Of stone, no ornamental
Pieces, no fresh flowers,
No statues
No pillars,
Just a single slab of
White carved
Neatly with the words:
Charles Perennial
March 16th 1879 –
March 16th 1896
Brother and Son
Always
YOU ARE READING
The Loving Dead
PuisiVerse novel. It was a long summer, until she discovered the grave. The boy buried 6ft under. The love of her life. She didn't know what drew her to that grave stone to begin with. Before meeting that boy she was sheltered, never really focusing on...
