In the old cemetary
there are small graves.
Its a place that shut its doors
to any more of my family dead,
residents nestled in its creek bank
long before infiltration
and nutrient cycles
made themselves known
to council planning.
my grandfather lies there
beside a benchseat,
that has 'gran' on a metal plate
on the backrest.
casuarina needles
crunch underfoot,
cicadas ratchet and titch
in crickety waves
while breezes rise
and fall amongst the trees
here a little boy
becomes dust
under the whistling sheoaks;
sent over seas by worried arms
to escape the bombs,
instead becomes
a bloodied mess of bone,
small english limbs
slammed against the wall
of an old australian shed
entangled in the strong rubber belt
of a well built milking machine.
sometimes,i wonder
would he have lived
had he stayed,
or was it his destiny
to become a casualty of war.
Sometimes when i leave,
light fading,
i think of him,
cold, encroaching dark,
small box breached
by ancient tree-roots,
small body turning to creek mud
under the estuarine banks
of the old cemetary.
A contest entry
- A Darker Poetry Contest III by -BlackKnight-.
525 points, ended August 11, 2008, 20 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - The Night Wants You by Night Terrors.
400 points, ended July 4, 50 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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tiny error here "I" is a propernoun that means it needs to be capitalized. Think of it as a name. I really loved this poem it really was quite sad and mealodic in many ways. I really apprecaite you entering this. It was a wonderful poem
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this is quite breathtaking well done its touching !
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This is very touching. Way to pick a topic and write about it beautifully.
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