An unmarked grave
Sans name, sans words
Lies outside the town
Somewhere around the old library
My friend says, it must be a poet
But I do not agree
Surrounded by weeds
Only wildflowers to be seen
This tiny space in earth
Must be a resting space
Of someone’s dreams…
Their words stolen
Their story untold
Their imagination, fascination, wonder
All buried to make way for life
Real life
Of dragging oneself
This job to that, this chore to that,
The whole practicality.
So you see, poet or not
they live still, albeit pragmatically
It’s only the naive hopes
That were dealt a death blow
And laid to rest
Inside this unmarked grave.
What a stunningly beautiful idea! A beautiful grave (surrounded by weeds and wildflowers) that is not the actual grave of a poet but of the dreams that someone has had to surrender as they moved to live a ‘normal’ life away from their dreams? What a poignant and moving concept – and a point well made (but made through the image you describe and delicately so) that we must lose so many of our dreams and wishes if we are to give up our dreams and step into the brutal world. This is simply gorgeous!
Thank you for reading and for such kind words ^^