My Graveyard

Not to invent the past.
There is my graveyard
Of moments that were.

And I built the monuments,
Not all were done right.

But they’re there too,
Those that sunk deep.

Sorrow carved some,
Pain carved some,
Over those bones, let 
Them rot in the ground,
I light no candles.

Before others, I keep
An eternal flame fed,
Fires to honour memories
Of Once Was.

Monuments to Moments.

Published in Nomad’s Choir