Hello readers,
The following poem was the result of a prompt exercise at one of our meetings. The prompt was tombstone, romance, and stool. What do you think?
Tombstone Serenade
No one knows
What brings them out.
No one knows
If it’s the moon glowing,
It’s face smiling down
Comforting the ancient dead.
No one remembers
Why Emerson Sprocket died.
No one remembers
The maker of fine stools
Slayed in his youth
An infected tooth, his ruthless assassin.
No one remembers
The apple of her father’s eye.
No one remembers
Amelia Johansson forever aged eighteen
Or the summer day
She met her doom.
No one but the dead
Sees the demure smile.
No one but the dead
Sees the cheeky wink
Across the grassy resting ground.
Its soil undisturbed.
No one knows
How long they sat.
No one knows
As the centuries inched along,
The shy young man
And the lovely maiden.
No one knows
Why Old Henry spoke,
No one knows
His cadaverous eyes twinkling
At the sight.
Oh to be young and in love.
No one heard
Old Henry chuckle.
No one heard
His pert question
But the long dead denizens
Of the hallowed ground.
No one heard
“Cat got your tongue?”
No one heard
except death’s citizenry.
The boy blushed head-to-toe.
A dainty hand caught her gasp.
No one saw
The steps Emerson take.
No one saw
Him reach across
To grasp Amelia’s ivory hand
Except their eternal companions.
No one saw
The lovers whisper.
No one saw
The shared caresses,
Centuries worth of yearnings
Satisfied for all time.
No one knows
Why they don’t come out.
No one knows
If it’s the wind howling
Winding past tombstones
Over long forgotten graves.
No one knows.