My body is a Graveyard
My body is a graveyard.
My skin, the soft soil sheltering old dreams from years gone by,
A slow decay of childhood memories,
Loose teeth and scraped knees in place of headstones
For wishes that fell short of becoming material,
For Saturday morning daydreams that got lost in the atmosphere,
For the four-leaf-clovers that got crushed before the luck came out.
My body holds the crumbled edges of great cities,
Built in the feverish flurry of my youth,
Built as extravagantly as my small hands could muster.
Within there deteriorating shadow,
My new kingdom rises up
Held together with the mortar of the past,
The façade holding echoes of familiar faces
I used to be full of fire, and now my garden grows
From the ashes of youthful vigor
Old regimes now feed wildflowers
And the tombstones in my scars
Rest in the moss laden beds
Of my skin
As the years groan on, my body continues to grow,
Letting out the years in will-o-wisp sighs.
Broken dreams lie nestled within my ribcage
As the roots of tomorrow set their moorings
My marrow gives way to feed the marigolds of my heart
And forget-me-nots encircle my crown
My body will always find compost in the past
My life has only just begun to take root,
And my graveyard is still young.
With every spring flower I welcome,
Autumn leaves fall to cover the freshly churned earth around my mausoleums.
I will tend to my grounds until I too join the earth,
And sow the seeds of my next life.
What lies beyond our physical experience? What happens to the human soul once our bodies cannot endure any longer? From cave paintings in France, Biblical scripture, Victorian mourning practices, to hashtags on twitter, humanity has been interested in exploring the permanence of death and the possibility of the afterlife.