Tombs

Tombs

Grey tombs

                of weathered rock

punctuated by

                                Orange patches of lichen.

Upon a hill

In the drizzling rain.

Low clouds obscure the sun

                Enshroud the oblivion of forever.

Of relics abandoned

                In the wake of life;

                                A life spent in the sun’s light.

Confused lives

                Striving towards

                                An unfathomable salvation.

Frozen in scripture,

                In inscriptions,

                                In photographs and stories

Eliciting empathetic understanding

                To illuminate a journey

That ended.

Opher – 28.10.2022

I wrote this on a grey, dismal day while walking through the graveyard in Howarth at the Bronte’s parsonage.

I was reading the inscriptions and thinking about the lives of these people. It felt as if they sacrificed so much for some idea of salvation, of an afterlife.

It felt to me as if real life, this brief flame, was almost relegated to a secondary role. Their hope was for something that lay beyond death.

Yet, life is all we have; this moment. Best to life it to the full. The flame flickers.

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