The angels have stopped weeping,
a sunken feeling of my timid steps as
the loam’s fine hair crackles with a deep gruff,
clasping the moist soil in my palms,
I stroke the mound and mumble a quick prayer,
showering the dirt into my matted hair, wanting to feel,
It was serene, it was surreal.
The mighty oak hovered above and watched me,
her limbs swaying gently,
cradling her leaves to a lullaby.
She was their guardian,
her roots were like fingers,
digging into the brown flesh where rocks mounted
She shelters the lonely souls.
She shelters me…
I ran around and around in circles,
like a wild child frolicking in the open fields.
Oh the tranquility…
I pretend to play hide-go-seek,
running, skipping and tagging each
monolith as though they were my friends.
Hugging, caressing and then I suddenly stopped.
Sweat glistened on my fevered skin as
I began to weep
tears of sadness, tears of joy…
I raised my arms towards the heavens
and chanted the names; Otto, James, George, Blanche…
and it went on and on.
I covered my face and fell to my knees
pondering why oh why?
Then the angels began to weep.
I held out my hands and gathered
the tiny droplets and scurried over to Mary.
My fingers grazing the stillness of her being,
as she cuddled in her arms ‘our infant’.
Let it rain so I can wash away the green moss of all
the unkempt and forgotten souls.
But it did not matter.
They were human once.
Memories erased, no more flowers -
their mistress in her black garbs comes no more.
They are finally free.
How I envy all of you.
No more pain, no more suffering… such tranquility.
Hush, I hear the leaves chanting,
the angels have stopped weeping.
I must leave this paradise; I must leave you all for now,
for hell on earth is past those iron gates!