Thursday, March 22, 2012

Happy Gravesites

Hearts in a hive,
those stinging bites
once made of flame
aged down to stone,

anew—in part—
enough of you—

every second’s an hour—
every hour, days

Hearts in a swarm
That tingling bliss
Sensation, bleeds plush again

With Each nibble, the more you leave,
happy gravesites—artifacts—
of what used to be—intact

and no longer can the cold of stone,
affect the warmth inside. 


  1. happy gravesides seem like an oxymoron, but i know many that make them monuments to pain, so i think if we can let them be places of sweet rememberance it would be a better way to go...

  2. This is really touching Fred. I read the gravesites metaphorically, like touchstones or memories.

  3. Happy gravesites are pretty grave indeed, as they can bring comfort but a lot of time they bring remembrance and sometimes that isn't always a good thing if people get lost or stuck in the past. But then if one remembers for happiness sake and can move on, they can be happy indeed.