…an outrageously beautiful place it is…
Extremely loud in silence and uniquely busy with inactivity
Free for all, yet the living avoid to visit
Fearing the thought of that day when their hearts would fail to beat.
Birds fly high away without perching
As if refuting a future abode here…
And insects gallivant without pausing;
As if friends, running errands for the deserted here
Yet, what kind of friendship is that?
A friendship to fill their mouths and bellies?
A friendship to increase their gain irrespective the dead’s pain?
And as such, avoid ever having a future here?
Sounds like the friendship of the Undertaker…
So valuable in mourning, yet, never free.
I am considerate, he always says when speaking of his fee,
And I wonder…what kind of friendship is that?
Yet, with the ants, theirs could be different.
They argue their friendship is true and selfless…
After all, they are taking away the burdens of the dead
Eating away their diabetes, their failed hearts, their grey hair from their heads.
All these and more happen in the cemetery.
Yet it hides the noise in the silence of its penitentiary
Refusing its inhabitants movement, oxygen and freedom;
And convincing them daily they have eternal rest in its bosom.
***Glad to finally revisit words Calliope gave me between
August 24th, 2010 – August 28th, 2010.