I might be a little morbid, but graveyards are some of my favourite places. What are yours?
Poem 186 of 365 –
The gravel crunches underneath my feet
And yields to the wheels of my bicycle.
I’m getting tired of my own company.
Most consider this their peripheral.
“Please keep right” advises the guardian:
A sign that keeps watch over the sleepers.
No one visits, save goths, historians,
The grieving, gardeners, and soul keepers.
Graveyards are some of my favourite places,
Though I am none of those who were described.
I unearth comfort among the faceless,
And find ablution in those who have died.
Here in long forgotten graves I reflect:
This life is short (so often we forget).