Free verse № 57575
Monument
Build me a tower, A tomb of gold.
I need to be remembered, I am getting so old.
Does granite not age? Is a pyramid to massive?
Times going by, can't afford to be passive.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Will iron last forever? Forget it, it will rust.
Maybe a mountain, could I afford the cost?
In 10 thousand years, will my memory be lost?
I drive past the grave sites and admire the markers.
The Jones, the Smiths, the Chastains, the Parkers.
I fully understand that the living need to remember.
For years they drop flowers from January to December.
But sooner or later the stone starts to fade.
The writing is gone, the flowers not laid.
Incinerate me and remember the times that I had.
Throw my ashes in the river and don't be sad.
6 comments
What do they need to remember and why? Of course you'll be forgotten in 10,000 years, I suggest you deal with your existential angst, rather than try to ensure that people remember you, graveyards are a waste of space. Of course, these comments are directed toward the "narrator", not the author.
I am dealing with someones death and the decision they made to erect an expensive marker.
It seems like such a waste to me. Throw my ashes into the stream and hopefully they will nourish new life
somewhere downstream.
Ashes to Ashes
The air smelled of moistened trees, buckshot, and latex
as the crowd walked gingerly back toward the camp,
some ran to avoid further soaking by the rain, or to put the ordeal behind them.
The six rifled gunmen had ultimately been successful,
after multiple failed attempts to get the balloons off the ground, the impatient crowd instructed
âShoot the bottom one first, itâs heaviest!â while glaring at a too-heavy string of red and white balloons
but the rain came down steadily through the lush maple and birch leaves.
The gunmen had been forced to wait longer than theyâd hoped,
each time they aimed, the pedestrians cried out âMore are still coming,â âOld people canât walk so fast!â
Irritation had been rising throughout the trek to the abandoned, overgrown cemetery of the 1800âs
The cemetery belonged to the same church whose foundation we passed along the way
the walls burnt down after the last of the smallpox victims had died,
now its basementâs stone walls stood moss covered, defiantly and proudly intact.
Maybe Industry was on the map back then,
a farming community, not this cluster of unfinished hunting camps with black tarp insufficiently covering leaning plywood structures.
The helium tank had detonated one after another balloon,
startling ashes off cigarettes that hung loosely from observersâ mouths.
Dust gathered on the designated inflatorsâ socks and shoelaces,
The bangs had drawn a sweaty crowd of spectators around the corner of the house to watch.
They were hastily instructed to scatter the dust around and
particles were thrown around in the bushes and trees, over the house
loam came trickling down the roof, spattering into trays of deviled eggs on the picnic table.
Frankâs finest day,
His plan of a 21 gun salute for family to see off the ashes of his radiated body
into the depths of his beloved hunting camp
a plan a trickster like Frank would appreciate,
his last laugh.
your style is very prosy
i like it
did the helium tank really explode? lol
only prob i really have is
"the bangs had drawn a sweaty crowd of spectators....."
it seems too laid back and chill for seomthing that is
thrilling and exciting and crazy.
i hope to see the finished work
i'm retarded
lol
Im FUCKING retarded
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