I watched the dead bury their dead
In the graveyard of the fallen city.
In the churchyard, desecrated, stood a tree,
Once high and lofty (just like me)
But now bent over in solemn prayer
Without a pitiful cry to escape its lips.
I watched as the city of tall buildings,
Tall as trees, reaching to God,
Crumbled beneath the weight of heaven;
And casket after casket, full,
Tottered past. I watched,
And the dead buried their dead.

I stood on a narrow road, alone.
The same cold wind that blew
Through the broken windows of the crumpled city,
Laid low like a widow weeping--
The same wind blew across my face
And covered me with the ashes of the beloved city:
The people, the buildings, the trees,
The generations (just like me)
All lined up inside caskets.
And I, on my narrow road, alone,
Watched atop a hill as the dead buried their dead.


[hannah]* said...

I hope you are publishing these somewhere, or in the process of working on it. Also, collegenet.com has like thousands of scholarships you could win just for submitting poetry and short stories you should check out if you ever need.

Emery said...

i love the perspective, amazing how many people simply dont think these days.