Turning Circles

An ornate mystical door stands strong and proud.
A barrier between the living and the dead.
No amount of pounding will open its lock,
No amount of pleading will open it a crack.

I'm turning in circles, both in body and mind.

Another door closes, and the casket lid slams shut,
Forever locking away a face I'll always hold dear.

A hollow piece of ground becomes their new bed,
The earth itself their covers.

I walked around endlessly, not sure where I was going.
Trying to run away from these thoughts
That takes pleasure in stalking.

Turning in circles over and over.

I'm back to standing at the now filled-in hole.
You have become one with the soil
And I'm stuck staring at a cement stone;
Knowing the body below no longer resembles your photo.

Left standing and gazing at the line
between your birth and death, realizing
your whole, beautiful life is in that one short dash.

I stretch out on the cold ground,
My hand rests over your grave
As my soul searches for your essence.

And my heart breaks once more, for
you're nowhere to be found.

(25 Lines)



Written for "Rebel Poetry Contest"  [18+]