Greenhaven Cemetery

what a morbid childhood.
I remember
walking throughout
the cemetery
that my daddy
worked at
trying
to become accustomed
with what
would be
my true future.

and thus,
I saw the dead
sought rest,
still as leaves
beneath fierce storms,
and I stood amongst
their fading stories,
unfolding
like the veins
of aged hands.

those tombstones,
rows upon rows,
in pebbled prose
of remembrance,
etched names
that whispered secrets
to the winds,
rustling through time's grip.

I longed
to become a part
of that eternal chorus,
echoes of sorrow,
celebration,
or sins confessed,
no judgement reserved
for the silent stones.

but life,
with its relentless grip,
claimed me
and kept me tethered
to its relentless cadence,
its cruel coil
of banal existence
and self-discovery.

there were no
tranquil graves for me,
no soft embrace
of mossy morning dew.
I walked,
not amongst
the peaceful dead,
but alongside
the broken
and the damned.

and here I am,
a wanderer
of wretchedness,
trying to become
accustomed with what
has been my true future,
as Hank
raucously sings
his truths in verse.

the graveyard
now within my veins,
a morbid childhood
etched upon my memory,
I write these words,
echoes of whispered regrets
and unfulfilled dreams
resonating within me.