Cemetery in Bloom

There stood I in a cemetery accompanied only by my fears,
Yet in my shadow saw I a flower soaking in my saltwater tears
It laughed at me for my misery and hence told --
"The folly of man, my friend, is the fear of growing old;
For prolonged youth -- a light heart is sold"
Soon beheld I the image of God emerging from the bitter ground;
The stygian graves transformed to flowers
of a garden serene and sound
My God manifested as a child so naive and pure
Plucked flowers at the peak of their beauty,
Driven by awe and lure
He then pressed the blossoms to pages of a book,
And cried when they withered in death
As if to their lives, he was a crook
That stole their very last breath
Yet the essence of quietus was soon fathomed by the boy and I;
That if flowers were to thrive eternally,
Never would they reach the garden beyond the sky
We believe that death is a sea of onyx
That drowns souls in their sleep,
And so we bathe our loved ones in the fountain of youth
In fear of the nightly reap
Yet now know I the worth of letting souls decide
To sleep, to dream, to live, to die; to hurl our fears to smithers,
To drain our tubs of their youthful waters,
And discover the beauty of a flower that withers

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