The cemetery birds sing a more soulful tune
in the dark of the tree’s last leaves,
like ghosts, most pass by unseen,
real for just a moment, it seems.

And the cemetery rocks look the same
as any other stones, the birds don’t know
what lies below, can’t read the inscriptions
that try to say it all in just a few words —

Still I return to make the same pattern in the leaves
and the names on the stones mean nothing to me
but I wait for a cry from the dark I can’t see
and like the dead, the nameless birds, I’ll be.

Categories: poetry

Tags: alienation, among the leaves, birds, cemeteries, existentialism, ghosts, mark kozelek, mindfulness poetry, poem, poetry, rhyming poetry, The Dead, the nature of art, Wordpress, writing