The whole world is a monument to death:
Water plants hold the place of the drowned,
The tree roots those dying trapped in place,
While clouds mark the souls of the newly dead,
And the stars, their numberless acts of grace.
In the center of the planet lies molten ore:
The emotion of all who've been bereaved-
And sometimes bursts from the bowels of earth,
Issuing when the volcano breathes;
And still the stones stand, remembering.
On restless days, the wind moans their names
And dolorous mountains repeat the same.
This is deep stuff Patti; and as always you go to the deep places so very well!
The imagery in this is delicious! Oh how I wish I'd written it! You are too good Patti.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I was so moved by the Google Ads at the bottom of the page for Memorial Bracelets and Candles I almost - note; almost - forgot to say this is wonderful writing. Yes, the earth breathes and we are it's breath too, a part of the universe.