POETRY: 'The Graveyard' by George Abraham

The Graveyard
by George Abraham


I- my ghosts

I can hear
a single dead black leaf
succumbing to subtle
wind resistance in midair;
falling from a tree,
wrinkled from years and despair,
a sole witness to
souls undead resting in peace.
branches expand in every direction
to aid the shader of souls,
the protector of the nonliving
from their enemy sun.
my ghosts are always
Here-
Haunting me until
the day I join them.
I glance down at
the three Stones in front of me-
their Resting places.
one read “beloved grandma”;
the other, “beloved uncle”;
the third remains unmarked
for the time being.

II- Grandma

alluring shore dweller;
beauty attracted attention
through short life;
waves Schlep as shell
moves in, out;
always pushed around,
yet always loved back;
diminutive Child picks
up the shell and stares
with Seeming innocence and awe;
inner beauty is recognized:
a family that loves,
friends who adore;
but she Drops the shell
Momentarily;
sickness infiltrates your veins
but only temporarily
the first time;
the child takes the Shell in hand
and Crushes it;
only dust remains
along with the engraved seashell
on a grave that reads
“beloved grandmother.”
yet, if she were
to look down
from above,
she would Weep.
Weep at
disgracefulness.
Weep at
selfishness.
Weep at
humanity’s actions
leaving them lamenting
in a rainswept graveyard.

III- Uncle

beloved,
his grave read.
the tears,
pain,
suffering
his leaving caused.
yet imagining that
Noble portrayal
of a Beloved uncle
cannot be;
its but his
Pseudonym.
he was dead
to us
long before…
and his Offspring,
those plagued by
inhumane greed;
those whose wallets are
stacked with dollar bills,
his grave was price to pay.
its sad, their
instability; their
lack of responsibility.
relying on
the Death of a
man they called
Beloved
to put food on the table…
and in all the English
language, never has such
a word been berated in value,
tramped in demeanor,
than Beloved…

IV- The Final Grave

fine stone chisled
with perfection;
lying there on the ground
unmarked
undug
unbelonging
of a restless soul
for the time being.
a fatalistic grave;
mark’d for one as if
the stars commanded it.
and this tree with dead black leaves
is barely living proof
of its portent;
the grave shall house
what is deteriorating and has
been deteriorating since human existence.
the grave shall house
that which we all have refused
to acknowledge and respect as our home.
that grave, once filled,
will bring about all our own.
and I cringe at the thought
of that day drawing near.
as I kneel and perform
the sign of the cross
above the three graves,
a final respect before I leave,
I look into the sky
and see the clouds spiraling
and hear the wind’s ghosts whispering.
that which results from
grandma’s tears.
that which results from
uncle’s fury.

the Tempest is here…

Copyright 2011 | George Abraham