Poem By kendall thomas

Your grave is on a hillside
overlooking a residential area
in Pittsburg.

If you could sit here, as I,
with your back against cold stone,
you could watch the little people
come and go.

Wouldn’t that be a hellish way
to spend eternity after the high life?

They put a rose in your hand,
shades over your eyes,
a platinum wig on your head
and a bottle of perfume beside you:

I wonder who will remember you or any of us
When the last ounce is gone?

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Other poems of THOMAS

Spring Blessings

Rivers wind unnoticed
through the brown hills
and budding trees,
where dark, little birds

A Scene

on the front lawn
soft spring come and gone
and summer sun
reveals its burning face

Apocalypse Of Memory

From the apocalypse of memory
You came to remind me
Of lines crossing battlefields
Of days when rain fell on muddy mounds

Angel Wings

The gentle
against your cheek:
angel wings


I am the wind whispering of eternity.
I am silence.
I am the junkie on the street corner.
I am the moralist who condemns.

Pagan Thoughts

I shouted my name through the valley,
but there was no answer.
My name died on my lips.
No stone would consecrate it.