Soul

The Earth weeps silently
when the soul is laid out
among the bed of flowers
that grow somberly along the stone wall
of the garden,
and people enter
spilling tears across the
path, disturbing the peace
of the flower bed, but
the Earth does not weep
like the people do, for
people shed tears of memories
lost, and accusations better left unsaid,
while the Earth cries in joy
at the wonderful addition of
a new mantlepiece. An eternity
spent shining down upon
those still walking
through the garden,
those who have yet to
stop and rest.
Only in sleep does
the worried soul find
solace.

by Chester Whitfield

Other poems of WHITFIELD (9)

Comments (2)

Praise for this lovely, haunting piece of poetry, Kind regards, Sandra
Outstanding read. You pulled the reader into the garden and its soul. Well done a wonderful piece. Patricia Gale